“She thought she loved, she thought she was full of love.”

Nobody knows you. You don’t know yourself. And I, who am half in love with you, What am I in love with? My own imaginings?

For my part, I prefer my heart to be broken. It is so lovely, dawn-kaleidoscopic within the crack.

What the eye doesn’t see and the mind doesn’t know, doesn’t exist.

Recklessness is almost a man’s revenge on his woman.

All hopes of eternity and all gain from the past he would have given to have her there, to be wrapped warm with him in one blanket, and sleep, only sleep. It seemed the sleep with the woman in his arms was the only necessity.

There is nothing to save, now all is lost, but a tiny core of stillness in the heart like the eye of a violet.

One must learn to love, and go through a good deal of suffering to get to it, and the journey is always towards the other soul.

Those that go searching for love only make manifest their own lovelessness, and the loveless never find love, only the loving find love, and they never have to seek for it.

She was not herself–she was not anything. She was something that is going to be–soon–soon–very soon. But as yet, she was only imminent.

For to desire is better than to possess, the finality of the end was dreaded as deeply as it was desired.

If a woman hasn’t got a tiny streak of harlot in her, she’s a dry stick as a rule.

A man could no longer be private and withdrawn. The world allows no hermits.

Be a good animal,true to your instincts.

Things men have made with wakened hands, and put soft life into are awake through years with transferred touch, and go on glowing for long years.

I can never decide whether my dreams are the result of my thoughts or my thoughts the result of my dreams.

There’s lots of good fish in the sea, maybe, but the vast masses seem to be mackerel or herring, and if you’re not mackerel or herring yourself, you are likely to find very few good fish in the sea.

In times of grief and sorrow I will hold you and rock you and take your grief and make it my own.

Some things are more precious because they don’t last long.

I love writing songs because I love preserving memories, like putting a picture frame around a feeling you once had.

The stories we love best do live in us forever.

I wish I could live inside my dreams with you together forever.

God loves each of us as if there were only one of us.

Love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance.

You like someone who can’t like you back because unrequited love can be survived in a way that once-requited love cannot.