“Some would say it is madness to want a woman this way,but I think it must be love. Not the tepid, fickle love of which thepoets sing—the love that forms or fades with kindness or cruelty.No, this love is something more divine—like the love of a god, bothvengeful and benign. It is as constant as the sea. And as beautiful.As dangerous. As mysterious.She is the only woman to ever refuse me. And yet, I want…”

“Wife,” I say, staring straight into her eyes. “Think what you want, but there isn’t a single woman in this whole damn universe that I could ever love like I love you.”

“She’s the woman I love. The woman my sick fucker of a father doesn’t want me to love”

“What I think," Chatty says, "is that if a man loves a woman more than a woman loves a man, then they're even.”

“I did not think I should be ever loved: do you indeed Love me so much as now you say you do?Ask of the sea-bird if it loves the sea, Ask of the roses if they love the rain, Ask of the little lark, that will not sing Till day break, if it loves to see the day:And yet, these are but empty images, Mere shadows of my love, which is a fire So great that all the waters of the main Can not avail to quench it.”

“I have loved to the point of madness; that which is called madness, that which to me, is the only sensible way to love.”