“I see his eyes, bright with life adnfire, and I know he won't stop fighting. Even if it's the kind of quiet fight on the inside that you can't always see. And I won't stop fighting either.”

“[..] I know he won't stop fighting. Even if it's the kind of quiet fight on the inside that you can't always see.”

“What is the matter with these people, these people who won't stop fighting, won't stop hurting each other...?”

“As long as we're both alive and our hearts are still beating, there's still a chance. I won't go down without a fight, and I know you won't either. That gives us a chance.”

“You make this sound like a chore for you, like a job. This...," he pressed his fingers to my heart, "it's about love for me--undying, unwavering, unrelenting love. A love that won't let me move on, it won't let me get over you. I don't want to focus on the sickness that could replace you in my heart. I don't want to think of what will happen if I stop fighting for you, for us. But, sometimes I feel like I'm alone in this fight.”

“All I could think of was you. All I can ever think about is you. Why am I always fighting it? Always fighting thinking about you, fighting this wonderful feeling about you. This aliveness. This love.” I look into his eyes and smile like a madwoman. “I love you!” I can’t stop saying it. “I love you. Love, love love.”