“So full of artless jealousy is guilt,It spills itself in fearing to be spilt.”

“Let us cry for the spilt milk, by all means, if by doing so we learn how to avoid spilling any more. Let us cry for the spilt milk, and remember how, and where, and why, we spilt it. Much wisdom is learnt through tears, but none by forgetting our lessons.”

“It's no good crying over spilt milk, because all the forces of the universe were bent on spilling it.”

“But what kind of love? It had so many faces, so many names. Jealousy wove a thread around it, and envy, and fear. People died for love–and killed for it. And yet in itself it was indefinable, it wore whatever passions people brought to it, like a mountebank, with no reality of its own.”

“If jealousy was the vindaloo of love, I'd imagined her tongue burning, and such a fire forcing her to spill her truth.”

“Guilt and no guilt: these were the worst things. The only thing worse than the guilt was the fear of getting caught.”