We could never have hit it off for long. There was never anything but love to keep us together.

There was never any more inception than there is now,
Nor any more youth or age than there is now;
And will never be any more perfection than there is now,
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.

Because there is surely nothing in the world that can compare with happiness of forgiveness and of lifting up a guilty sinner in the arms of love.

But I think there comes a point in love, a unique moment which later on the soul seeks in vain to surpass, and that the effort to revive such happiness depletes it; that nothing thwarts happiness so much as the memory of happiness.

There's no love like the first.

Youth can only assert itself through the conviction that its ventures surpass all others and resemble nothing.

There is nothing so eternally adhesive as the memory of power.

"Sorrow can only be compared with the memory of joy, which is not at all the same thing as joy itself. Like words, memories never really succeed in "catching" reality."

There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.

Nothing thwarts happiness so much as the memory of happiness.

Nothing is more fatal to happiness than the remembrance of happiness.

[O]ne of the mixed blessings of being twenty and twenty-one and even twenty-three is the conviction that nothing like this, all evidence to the contrary notwithstanding, has ever happened before.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

I remember what it was...to be young, very young. When everything, touching and tasting-everything- was so new, and even suffering was wonderful because it was so complete.