I just...I just miss him. And I hate being so alone.

After everything that happened, how could I miss him? But I did, I did.

I regret that I should leave this world without again beholding him.

I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't.

I asked him to leave because he stopped caring for me, stopped supporting me. Not because I’d stopped caring for him.

I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.

I tried to love you less.I couldn't.

If I feel by intuition that he doesn't love me anymore, I will immediately fly away like a stricken bird

He did not fail in love, but he lost the joy of it [...]

(...) he turned to go his own way, and hardly knew he loved her still.

I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.

Falling out of love is chiefly a matter of forgetting how charming someone is.

He was there or was not there: not there if I didn't see him.

He sat there silent, watching their love expire.