“So this is life. Love. We spend all this time reaching for each other and mostly we end up hurting each other until it's over.”

“Can it really be love if we don't talk that much, don't see each other? Isn't love something that happens between people who spend time together and know each other's faults and take care of each other?...In the end, I decide that the mark we've left on each other is the color and shape of love.”

“We swore to take care of each other. To never hurt each other. To love each other unending...”

“Some days our friends don’t feel as loved as they should, so they spread that hurt around. We’re lucky we have a family that loves each other and is kind to each other. Sometimes we hurt each other’s feelings, too, but we apologize and then we come back around.”

“It was in the spring that Josephine and I had first loved each other, or, at least, had first come into the full knowledge that we loved. I think that we must have loved each other all our lives, and that each succeeding spring was a word in the revelation of that love, not to be understood until, in the fullness of time, the whole sentence was written out in that most beautiful of all beautiful springs.”

“What were we spending so much time doing if not getting to know each other?”