I'm wondering if without our memories, there's nothing for it but for our love to fade and die.

There was another life that I might have had, but I am having this one.

It had never occurred to me that our lives, which had been so closely interwoven, could unravel with such speed.

You say you’re sure? Sure that you’re in love? How can you know it? You think love is so simple?

If you are under the impression you have already perfected yourself, you will never rise to the heights you are no doubt capable of.

But what is the sense in forever speculating what might have happened had such and such a moment turned out differently? One could presumably drive oneself to distraction in this way. In any case, while it is all very well to talk of 'turning points', one can surely only recognize such moments in retrospect. Naturally, when one looks back to such instances today, they may indeed take the appearance of being crucial, precious moments in one's life; but of course, at the time, this was not the impression one had. Rather, it was as though one had available a never-ending number of days, months, years in which to sort out the vagaries of one's relationship with Miss Kenton; an infinite number of further opportunities in which to remedy the effect of this or that misunderstanding. There was surely nothing to indicate at the time that such evidently small incidents would render whole dreams forever irredeemable.