It's disappointing enough to know that the people we love will sometimes lie, but it is almost worse when we remember that strangers do this too, and this is why it is best not to admit our lies to strangers because it is not pleasant to learn that someone will lie even when there is little to nothing at stake.

It was possible she might not have the right feeling after all, that she wasn't in love, wasn't in limerence, but was in some unnamed place alone.

Everyone wants to feel like they could destroy a small-to-medium-to-large part of someone who loves them.

I knew that my husband was a song that I had forgotten the words to and I was a fuzzy photograph of someone he used to love.

...no moment cares, and the ones you wish could stretch out like a hammock for you to lie in, well, those moments leave the quickest and take everything good with them, little burglars, those moments, those hours, those days you loved the most.

Past love is as good as a past dream, intangible, impossible to share.

Maybe I will always have to love the idea of love or a concept of God more than I can love a person.

What is the point of love? To distract us.