How can she? She's incapable of understanding anything. Besides, do any of us understand what we are doing? If we did, would we ever do it?

You cannot pick and choose what parts of her to love.

It's hard to love a woman and do anything.

It is not possible to produce a set of rules purporting to describe what a man should do in every conceivable set of circumstances.

When there is no gaining idea in what you do, then you do something.

"I can't make sense out of that girl," he said to the bard, "Can you?"

"Never mind," Fflewddur said, "We aren't really expected to."

My sympathies and my love went out to her, even as my hand had in the garden. I felt that years of the conventionalities of life could not teach me to know her sweet, brave nature as had this one day of strange experiences. Yet there were two thoughts which sealed the words of affection upon my lips. She was weak and helpless, shaken in mind and nerve. It was to take her at a disadvantage to obtrude love upon her at such a time. Worst still, she was rich.

If you really love me, you have to come to me without demands, I thought but didn’t say, I wanted her to notice on her own.

Ready-made phrases and the ritual of etiquette were unknown to him; his thoughtfulness was pure improvisation, and it resembled the little inventions affection inspires.

oh what can i do life is beautiful but you don't have a clue.

He could do only one thing at a time. If he held her, he couldn't kiss her. If he kissed her, he couldn't see her. If he saw her, he couldn't feel her.

She didn’t notice that she used black magic and put a spell on her daughter. She didn’t know the power of her word, and therefore she isn’t to blame.

When the writer (or the artist in general) says he has worked without giving any thought to the rules of the process, he simply means he was working without realizing he knew the rules.

You fight, work, sweat, nearly kill yourself, sometimes do kill yourself, trying to accomplish something — and you can’t. Not from any fault of yours. You simply can do nothing, neither great nor little — not a thing in the world — not even marry an old maid, or get a wretched 600-ton cargo of coal to its port of destination.