Absence is to love what wind is to fire; it extinguishes the small, it inflames the great.

Absence is to love what wind is to a fire; it puts out the little, it kindles the great.

When we have not what we love, we must love what we have. [Fr., Quand on n'a pas ce que l'on aime, Il faut aimer ce que l'on a.]

I imagine a line, a white line, painted on the sand and on the ocean, from me to you.

And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

If i think about us logically, there is no chance for us. But logic doesn't produce magic.