“He's looking so deeply into my eyes that I'm surprised I haven't buckled under the intensity and I realize then, right in this moment I realize that everything about him is intense. Nothing about him is manageable or easy to compartmentalize. He's too much. Everything about him is too much. His emotions, his actions, his anger, his aggression. His love.”

“He's too much. Everything about him is too much. His emotions, his actions, his anger, his aggression.His love.”

“His face, like everything she knew about him, was purely contradictory. That cherubic mouth with those penetrating eyes: he was too lovely to be menacing, but too intense to be innocent.”

“His eyes burned violet - not with anger but with intense desire. The kind of look that made you love a person so much, you missed him even when he was standing right in front of you.”

“I love the ground under his feet, and the air over his head, and everything he touches and every word he says. I love all his looks, and all his actions and him entirely and all together.”

“He runs his finger tips along my cheek, caressing my face. “Hush. I’m right here.” He looks at me with deep anguish in his eyes. Like there’s so much he wants to tell me but feels it’s too late now. I want to stroke his face and tell him that it will be okay. That everything will be all right. And I wish so badly that it would be.”