“But she was not made for any man, and she will never be all mine.”

“SHE is neither pink nor pale, And she never will be all mine; She learned her hands in a fairy-tale, And her mouth on a valentine. She has more hair than she needs; In the sun ’tis a woe to me! And her voice is a string of colored beads, Or steps leading into the sea. She loves me all that she can, And her ways to my ways resign; But she was not made for any man, And she never will be all mine.”

“She will never know that tonight, she was mine.”

“She knew she could never love any man the way she loved a blank sheet of paper that only she could fill.”

“She was mine. For the sake of appearances, she was my wife, but she was mine anyway. She didn’t know it yet, but I did. It was wrong and it made no sense, but she belonged with me. No one else, not anyone else.”

“With hardly any effort at all, she made me feel special. Just like all the other people she toyed with.”