I look on my friendship with her as a treasure and a privilege. I shan't ever fall in love with her, padlock, but I am absolutely devoted to her and if she died I should mind quite, quite dreadfully. Or went mad again.

She wasn't in love but she would love him, if that would save her.

I am no longer in love with her, that's certain, but maybe I love her. Love is so short, forgetting is so long.

She loved him not only in spite of but because he himself was incapable of love.

I am now convinced that I have never been much in love; for had I really experienced that pure and elevating passion, I should at present detest his very name, and wish him all manner of evil. But my feelings are not only cordial towards him; they are even impartial towards her. I cannot find out that I hate her at all, or that I am in the least unwilling to think her a very good sort of girl. There can be no love in all this.

And I loved her so much I couldn't conceive of ever parting from her; true, we never talked about marriage, but at least was asbolutely serious about marrying her one day

I don't believe in God but I'm very interested in her.

"I'm not interested in being a "lover." I'm interested in only being love."

I am a lover and have not found my thing to love.

All love shifts and changes. I don't know if you can be wholeheartedly in love all the time.

I'm not full of virtues and noble qualities. I love, but I love strongly, exclusive, stedfasty.

Yet falling in love is not the same as being able to love.

Woman has nothing but her affections, — and this makes her at once more loving and less loved.

It feels good, honey, but it isn't love.