"There is no use in loving things if you have to be torn from them, is there? And it’s so hard to keep from loving things, isn’t it?"

"Perhaps, after all, romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a gay knight riding down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some sudden shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps … perhaps … love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship, as a golden-hearted rose slipping from its green sheath."

"I think you still love me, but we can’t escape the fact that I’m not enough for you. I knew this was going to happen. So I’m not blaming you for falling in love with another woman. I’m not angry, either. I should be, but I’m not. I just feel pain. A lot of pain. I thought I could imagine how much this would hurt, but I was wrong."

"You will always be loved, and you will always be in love with love."

"More than anything. I felt the unfairness of it, the inarguable injustice of loving someone who might have loves you back but can’t due to deadness…and I cried, whimpering, and I didn’t even feel sadness so much as pain. it hurt, and that is not a euphemism. It hurt like a beating."