“I loved this woman the way you love ... well, nothing," he said, a note of suprise in his voice. "You can’t compare that kind of love to anything, can you? It’s its own unique gift.”

“You can," he said. There was a tremulous note in his voice. "You're strong—you're so, so strong. It's why I love you.”

“for a woman, love is its own reason. "I love you because I love you.”

“In a world of complete economic equality, you get and keep the affections you deserve. You can’t buy love with gifts or favors, you can’t hold love by raising an inadequate child, and you can’t be secure in love by serving as a good scrub woman or a good provider.”

“I love you in–in every kind of way.’‘I feel like that too . . .’ His voice is shocked and raw. ‘It’s – it’s a feeling so big I sometimes think it’s going to swalow me. It’s so strong I feel it could kil me. It keeps growing and I can’t – I don’t know what to do to stop it. But – but we’re not supposed to do this – to love each other like this!”

“That's how they say it: He loves you in his own way. Well, what about my way? What if I need for him to love me in my way?”