Young love-making, that gossamer web! Even the points it clings to--the
things whence its subtle interlacings are swung--are scarcely
perceptible: momentary touches of finger-tips, meetings of rays from
blue and dark orbs, unfinished phrases, lightest changes of cheek and
lip, faintest tremors. The web itself is made of spontaneous beliefs and
indefinable joys, yearnings of one life towards another, visions of
completeness, indefinite trust.--_George Eliot._