“I was jealous; therefore I loved.”
“I love being in love, but I also love other things, like not being jealous, overly sensitive, or needy. ”
“Sometimes, I think that I love life so much, that I make death jealous...”
“Am I jealous? he thought, astonished. Jealous of the chance object to which she has attached herself? Jealous of something that does not concern me? One can be jealous of a love that has turned away, but not of that to which it has turned.”
“I love, therefore I am vulnerable.”
“That I have no right to be jealous is irrelevant. It is a human passion: the sick, white underbelly of love.”