Nights in Rodanthe

The greater the love, the greater the tragedy when it's over.

While I sleep, I dream of you, and when I wake, I long to hold you in my arms. If anything, our time apart has only made me more certain that I want to spend my nights by your side, and my days with your heart.

People want pretty much the same things: They wanted to be happy. Most young people seemed to think that those things lay somewhere in the future, while most older people believed they lay in the past.

Too many people seem to believe that silence was a void that needed to be filled, even if nothing important was said.

I've been thinking about you constantly since I left, wondering why the journey I'm on seemed to have led through you. I know my journey's not over yet, and that life is a winding path, but I can only hope it somehow circles back to the place I belong. That's how I think of it now. I belong with you.

Before we met, I was as lost as a person could be and yet you saw something in me that somehow gave me direction again.

As hard as it was, as terrible and unfair as the way things turned out, i wouldn't have traded the few days i spent with him for anything

I love you now for what we've already shared, and I love you now in anticipation of all that's to come.

The greater the love, the greater the tragedy when it’s over. Those two elements always go together.

Then you came along and helped me believe in myself again.

I know we loved each other, but distance can do strange things to people and before I was willing to tell you about it, I wanted to be certain that it would last

Sometimes there would be someone else out there, someone she didn't know, but when they saw each other each would nod, as if making a secret pact. No question, no small talk..agreed

There's so much I wish for these days, but most of all, I wish you were here. It's strange, but before I met you, I couldn't remember the last time that I cried. Now, it seems that tears come easily to me...but you have a way of making my sorrows seem worthwhile, of explaining things in a way that lessens my ache. You are a treasure, a gift, and when we're together again, I intend to hold you until my arms are weak and I can do it no longer. My thoughts of you are sometimes the only things that keep me going.

Love is the essence of a full and wonderful life.

When I write to you, I feel your breath; when you read them, I imagine you feel mine. Is it that way with you too? These letters are part of us now, part of our history, a reminder forever that we made it through this time. Thank you for helping me survive this year, but more than that, thank you in advance for all the years to come.

Men are like that sometimes - if they meet someone and fall in love, it's real, no matter how fast it happened. But if someone falls for a woman they happen to care about, all they do is question the man's intentions.

When I sleep, I dream of you, and when I wake, I long to hold you in my arms.If anything, our time apart has only made me more certain that I want to spend my nights by your side, and my days with your heart.

Young and old, male or female, pretty much everyone she knew wanted the same things: They wanted to feel peace in their hearts, they wanted a life without turmoil, they wanted to be happy.

It isn't. The greater the love, the greater the tragedy when it's over. These two elements always go together.

I know you've only ever known your father and me. And I love Jack, because he is your father. But there's another kind of love, Amanda. One that gives you the courage to be better than you are, not less than you are. One that makes you feel that anything is possible. I want you to know that you could have that. I want you to hold out for it.

If Mark’s words had once made him angry, Martha’s words left him stunned. He started to try to talk her out of it, but Martha gently cut him off. “Will you really miss me?” she said. “We hardly know each other anymore.” “I can change,” he said. Martha smiled. “I know you can. And you should. But you should do it because you want to, not because you think I want you to.

Remembering those days always aroused a mixture of emotions in her—something akin to, but not quite, nostalgia. Nostalgia was often romanticized; with these memories, there was no reason to make them any more romantic than they already were. Nor did she share these memories with others. They were hers, and over the years, she’d come to view them as a sort of museum exhibit, one in which she was both the curator and the only patron.

She had fallen in love with a stranger in the course of a weekend, and she would never fall in love again.

I know my journey’s not over yet, and that life is a winding path, but I can only hope it somehow circles back to the place I belong. That’s

Before we met, I was as lost as a person could be, and yet you saw something in me that somehow gave me direction again.

It was any combination of a thousand things, she told herself, but it wasn’t love. And

In spite of the direction his medical practice had taken in later years, he’d always remained less interested in appearance than those things a person couldn’t see: kindness and integrity, humor and sensibility.

Too many people seemed to believe that silence was a void that needed to be filled, even if nothing important was said.

he was glad that he’d never had to live near people who pushed paper for a living and weren’t comfortable if the temperature at work wasn’t exactly seventy-two degrees.

Standing in the pouring rain, she felt the pull of the person he was, and the person she realized she wanted to be. By