I am no bird; and no net ensnares me; I am a free human being with an independent will, which I now exert to leave you.
Surely the saddest thing in the world is falling out of love - if once one has ever fallen in.
All that remains to us when love and glory are over, when adventures and passions have faded into the past, is but a deeper and ever-deepening sense of the infinite; and if we have not that within us, then are we destitute indeed.
I cannot eat, I cannot drink; the pleasures of youth and love are fled away: there was a good time once, but now that is gone, and life is no longer life.
In love, unlike most other passions, the recollection of what you have had and lost is always better than what you can hope for in the future.
Why is it that we don't always recognize the moment love begins, but we always recognize the moment it ends.
I can write the saddest poem of all tonight. To think I don't have her. To feel that I've lost her. To hear the immense night, more immense without her. And the poem falls to the soul as dew to grass.
Love is like standing in wet cement, the longer you stay the harder is to leave, and you can never leave without leaving a mark behind.
This is the problem with getting attached to someone, when they leave, you just feel lost.
It's not the goodbye that hurts. It's the flashbacks and the memories that follow.
Maybe it's not always about trying to fix something broken. Maybe it's about starting over and creating something better.