“His soul was a mirror of my own.”

“He had an angel's face, but his eyes were so hypnotically tarnished, a mirror of my own pain in their depths.”

“I fell in love with your eyes first because I looked into their depths and saw the other half of my soul.”

“You're more precious than my own life to me, Bianca.”

“You put your soul into those paintings, and nothing in this world is more beautiful to me than that soul of yours.”

“I loved your eyes first,” I told him , repeating his words from a few weeks ago back to him, because it was true, and because we were two halves of a whole—we had been all along, and he’d been so clever to know it right away. I used to think it was insanity, but now I was beginning to think that it was pure brilliance. “I see it, too, James. I see the other half of my soul in you.”

“He lay down beside me, pulling me back to his chest and throwing his arm over me. “Mine,” he whispered in my ear.”