It was odd, (Tessa thought), what brought out tenderness in people.

What is a book? Is it the binding, the ink, the pages, or the sum of the words contained?

She was completely alone in the world. There was no one at all for her. No one in the world who cared whether she lived or died. Sometimes the horror of that thought threatened to overwhelm her and plunge her down into a bottomless darkness from which there would be no return. If no one in the entire world cared about you, did you really exist at all?

I cannot explain love. I could not tell you if I loved you the first moment I saw you, or if it was the second or third or fourth. But I remember the first moment I looked at you walking toward me and realized that somehow the rest of the world seemed to vanish when I was with you. That you were the center of everything I did and felt and thought.

It's alright to love someone who doesn't love you back, as long as they're worth you loving them. As long as they deserve it.

Will: I've never seen anyone get so excited over books before. You'd think they were diamonds.Tessa: Well, they are, aren't they? Isn't there anything you love like that?

Most of us do things for reasons that are more purely personal. For love, or for hate.

Their beauty had always seemed to him like the beauty of pressed flowers - lovely, but dead.

It is as great a thing to love as it is to be loved. Love is not something that can be wasted.