Real love should draw no blood from the loved and buckets from the lover.

The thing I never understood about love is that it can't be quelled, like lust can. With love, if you follow its call, if you give in to it, it just gets worse. The more you have, the deeper you go, the more you need.

And reading this way - with no deadline, no agenda - she remembered why she loved literature so much. It was like fucking a new man and knowing that he had made other women come, but that when she came it would be an unshareable, untranslatable pleasure. She opened herself up to her books, and the words got inside her and fucked her senseless.

Real love demands trust.

I understand you. I know you love me. I wish you were there.

Despite I may be surrounded by many friends, there is not one that interests me as much as you do.