“I think Oscar Wilde wrote a poem about a robin who loved a white rose. He loved it so much that he pierced his breast and let his heart's blood turn the white rose red. Maybe this sounds very sentimental, but for anybody who has loved a career as much as I've loved mine, there can be no short cuts.”

“A White RoseThe red rose whispers of passion,And the white rose breathes of love;O the red rose is a falcon,And the white rose is a dove.But I send you a cream-white rosebudWith a flush on its petal tips;For the love that is purest and sweetestHas a kiss of desire on the lips.”

“I didn't know what to say, but my heart was racing as he slid his hands down to mine. He placed them on his chest, right above his heart. "I have hope," he said, his gaze never leaving mine. "I have hope because I love you-I've been in love with you, Avery. Probably before I even realized that I was.""You loved me?"Cam dropped his forehead to mine and his chest rose sharply under my hands. "I love you."My heart stuttered. "You love me?""Yes, sweetheart.”

“The rose is red, the violet's blue, Sugar's sweet and so are you. If you love me as I love you, No knife can cut our love in two. My love for you will never fail As long as pussy has a tail.”

“ His lips,his soft and amazing lips, touch mine and the world spins with a different kind of magic. This kind isn't evil or hard, but lovely and wild, and I melt into it. He melts into it too, I can tell. I can feel how much he loves me just but the touch of his lips. And it is a good love, a really good love.”

“He was not such a special person. He loved to read very much, and also to write. He was a poet, and he exhibited me many of his poems. I remember many of them. They were silly, you could say, and about love. He was always in his room writing those things, and never with people. I used to tell him, What good is all that love doing on paper? I said, Let love write on you for a little. But he was so stubborn. Or perhaps he was only timid.”