There’s a memorable bit from Charles Dickens’ “A Tale of Two Cities” that springs to mind:

And so exactly was the expression repeated on the fair young face of her who had crept along the wall to a point where she could see him, and where she now stood looking at him, with hands which at first had been only raised in frightened compassion, if not even to keep him off and shut out the sight of him, but which were now extending towards him, trembling with eagerness to lay the spectral face upon her warm young breast, and love it back to life and hope–so exactly was the expression repeated (though in stronger characters) on her fair young face, that it looked as though it had passed like a moving light, from him to her.

     I love my Wildcat.

     And should it be the last of my life, the only thing that I want to remember is her smiling face…. her…. wholly.
     And that will carry me on.