“They call this love, she said to herself. I know what it is now. I never thought I would know, but I do now.But she failed to add: if you can step back and identify it, is it really there? Shouldn't you be unable to know what the whole thing's about? Just blindly clutch and hold and fear that it will get away. But unable to stop, to think, to give it any name.Just two more people sharing a common human experience. Infinite in its complexity, tricky at times, but almost always successfully surmounted in one of two ways: either blandly content with the results as they are, or else vaguely discontent but chained by habit. Most women don't marry a man, they marry a habit. Even when a habit is good, it can become monotonous; most do. When it is bad in just the average degree it usually becomes no more than a nuisance and an irritant; and most do.But when it is darkly, starkly evil in the deepest sense of the word, then it can truly become a hell on earth.Theirs seemed to fall midway between the first two, for just a little while. Then it started veering over slowly toward the last. Very slowly, at the start, but very steadily...("For The Rest Of Her Life")”

“Her back to me, she said, “I know what Paul thinks. Everyone thinks I didn’t love Porter, that I just married him for the money, but Porter and I --” She shrugged.As avowals of lasting love go, I’ve sat through more professional presentations.But I said, “No outsider can understand a relationship between two people.” Hell, sometimes even the people in the relationship couldn’t understand it.”

“You may not be her first, her last, or her only. She loved before she may love again. But if she loves you now, what else matters? She's not perfect—you aren't either, and the two of you may never be perfect together but if she can make you laugh, cause you to think twice, and admit to being human and making mistakes, hold onto her and give her the most you can. She may not be thinking about you every second of the day, but she will give you a part of her that she knows you can break—her heart. So don't hurt her, don't change her, don't analyze and don't expect more than she can give. Smile when she makes you happy, let her know when she makes you mad, and miss her when she's not there.”

“You know what would be really nice right now? Coffee. I'd really go for some coffee." Just the idea made her salivate.He scowled. "How can you think about coffee right now?""I don't know. Maybe caffeine is how I cope." She thought for a moment. "Although usually I'm a crier. Are you a crier?""No.""Not even sad movies or weddings?""No.""What about commercials with little puppies that need a home?"He blinked. "Please stop talking.""Hmm," she said slowly. "Maybe talking is how I cope." Her hands started falling asleep. "You know what else would be really nice right now?""An off button?”

“And just holding her hand would be good. Can you understand that? Do you know that holding someone's hand can be `the' thing? Such a thing that your hands move while not moving. You can remember a thing like that, rather than any other thing about a night, all your life. Just holding hands can mean more, I believe it. When everything is repeated, and over, and familiar, it's the first things rather than the last that count.”

“They call it love," said Vernon. "I don't know what they mean by it. What do you mean [by love]?""I don't exactly know," said Temple slowly. "I suppose it's wanting to be with a person, and thinking about nothing else. And thinking they're the most beautiful and all that. And going over everything that they've ever said to you, and wanting— Well, I suppose if it's really love you want to marry them.”