“Lies About LoveWe are all liars, becauseThe truth of yesterdaybecomes a lie tomorrow,Whereas letters are fixed,and we live by the letter of truth.The love I feel for my friend, this year,is different from the love I felt last year.If it were not so, it would be a lie.Yet we reiterate love! love! love!as if it were a coin with fixed valueinstead of a flower that dies, and opens a different bud.”

“Linda was nine then, as I was, but we were in love...it had all the shadings and complexities of mature adult love and maybe more, because there were not yet words for it, and because it was not yet fixed to comparisons or chronologies or the ways by which adults measure such things...I just loved her. Even then, at nine years old, I wanted to live inside her body. I wanted to melt into her bones -- that kind of love.”

“sometimes every word i write is 'love' but the letters are rearranged, the sounds are different. all the words are red.”

“And, like poor Phaedra, we fall in love not with who we want to fall in love with, but with one who moves us, and sometimes it is the last person we should fall in love with. Our involuntary choice is not always the right one, and sometimes it is actually the worst one, hence our suffering. And then, of course, there is the completely different situation of the loving people where, over the years, the love they once felt for each other fades and they can't go on. They feel their love dying, but are unable to bring it back to life.”

“This is a love story. I never knew there were so many kinds of love or that love could make people do so many different things.I never knew there were so many different ways to say goodbye.”

“O, love's best habit is in seeming trust, And age in love loves not to have years told: Therefore I lie with her and she with me, And in our faults by lies we flatter'd be.”