All of us have failed. One wishes to be punished. One is willing to assume all kinds of penance, but do you know, my daughter, that in love -- I scarcely dare say it -- but in love our very mistakes don't seem to be able to last long?

The knowledge that she would never be loved in return acted upon her ideas as a tide acts upon cliffs.

There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.

And we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead,

Many who have spent a lifetime in it can tell us less of love than the child that lost a dog yesterday.

Many who have dedicated their life to love, can tell us less about this subject than a child who lost his dog yesterday.