“And infatuated be damned. He was near to being blinded by his attraction to her. He was in love, damn it all. He disliked her, he resented her, he disapproved of almost everything about her, yet he was head over ears in love with her, like a foolish schoolboy.
He wondered grimly what he was going to do about it.
He was not amused.
Or in any way pleased.”
“I would be consumed by you,' she said, and blinked her eyes furiously when she felt them fill with tears. 'You would sap all the energy and all the joy from me. You would put out all the fire of my vitality.'
'Give me a chance to fan the flames of that fire,' he said, 'and to nurture your joy.”
“And of course the word love has many shades of meaning, as do many, many of the words in our living, breathing language”
“I do not admire greatness that has no substance.”
“played any sort of game. Ten.”
“But why always think the worst of people? What would she be doing to herself if she adopted that attitude to life? It was better to think the best and be wrong than to think the worst and be wrong.”
“He stilled for a moment, savoring the sensation of being buried deep inside her, of filling her, of being joined together in God’s heavenly embrace. He held her gaze and pushed deeper, shuddering with a wave of pure tenderness. The look in her eyes stripped him to the core. He couldn’t move, wanting to preserve the moment, wanting never to forget how it felt to experience perfection.”
“Music may be the activity that prepared our pre-human ancestors for speech communication and for the very cognitive, representational flexibility necessary to become humans.”
“Andie: "Why can't you just let me go?"
Mack: "I can't let you go because you're mine.”
“The same feeling of not belonging, of futility, wherever I go: I pretend interest in what matters nothing to me, I bestir myself mechanically or out of charity, without ever being caught up, without ever being somewhere. What attracts me is elsewhere, and I don’t know where that elsewhere is.”
“Each of us has within him a dark chamber where the real desire flowers; and the horror of it is that they never see the light of another's understanding, those strange blooms. It is as lonely as it is dark, that chambers of the heart.”
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