I'm in love with reading

All Nature is but Art, unkown to thee;
All Chance, Direction, which thou canst not see;
All Discord, Harmony, not understood;
All partial Evil, universal Good:
And, spite of Pride, in erring Reason's spite,
One truth is clear, 'Whatever is, is RIGHT.'

From Alexander Pope's Essay on Man, Epistle 1

To--
Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odors, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves, when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved's bed;
And so they thoughts, when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

Percy Bysshe Shelley