“... unpacked her books, her sweet delight in happier days, and her soothing resource in the hours of moderate sorrow: but there were hours when even these failed of their effect; when the genius, the taste, the enthusiasm of the sublimest writers were felt no longer.”

“When it is our turn to check in, the woman behind the counter smiles brightly at us despite the cruel hour. I attempt to return her enthusiasm, but my lips don't have the energy for it. The effect is something like a snarl.”

“There were days when she’d open her eyes and be him for six hours in a row; she knew all his secrets and nothing he had done seemed wrong to her, she knew how it was, how things had been, she was there. There were days when he touched the tip of her nose and it was enough, a miracle of plenty.But who finds happiness interesting?”

“The time for falling in love was when you were emotionally available and free of cares, when it didn’t matter what time you came home or how late you were getting up the next day. When you had hours and hours to spend gazing into each other’s eyes and even longer hours making love, uninterrupted. If you wait for the perfect time to fall in love…it’ll never happen.”

“The desire for her was a taste he had acquired with the first sip. What would become of him when he could no longer drink from her sweet well?”

“When words, half love, all tenderness,Were hourly heard, as hourly spoken,When the long, sunny days of blissOnly by moonlight nights were broken.”