It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things. (2/2)

That, Beatrice, is how I will love you even as the world goes on its wicked way. (4/4)

I will love you if you never marry at all, and never have children, and spend your years wishing you had married me after all, and I must say that on late, cold nights I prefer this scenario out of all the scenarios I have mentioned. (3/4)

I will love you if you marry someone else, your co-star, perhaps, or O., or even R.—although sadly I believe it will be quite some time before two women can be allowed to marry—and I will love you if you have a child, or two, or three children, or even more, although I think three is plenty. (2/4)

blearily around a love-less landscape, hoping desperately that their circumstances will improve, but suspecting, in their heart of hearts, that they will remain unloved forever. The best thing to do in these circumstances is to wake someone else up, so that they can feel this way, too. (2/2)