For men love what they cannot have, and hate what they cannot control.

If you find a way to write with open heart to Diary, a friend with Truth, no detail spared, your tome like Petrarch’s works will contain the scattered fragments of your soul.

Am I pretty? I must be, I thought, for all girls in love are pretty.

Everyone knows that for a woman to conceive in the act of coition she, as well as the man. must be satisfied. Is that not true?Of corse it is true.

Time would be my friend, I told myself.Yet time, I knew even then, was my enemy.

Am I worthy of Juliet, I wondered, worthy as my father was of my mother?

Some promises are lies we never meant to tell.

Oh love how can we not be together?' Romeo cried. "Without the sight of you every day, the smell, the taste of you, I would wither away. My blood would turn to powder in my veins. And you? Have you not found in me a mirror for your soul? When you look at me, when we speak, touch, do you not see who you really are? I dare you to deny that in my presence you love yourself better. I know this is true, for I love myself better in yours.

She shocked me. Truly rocked the ground beneath my feet. Made the air shimmer with her power and grace. The woman had slipped free the prison of rules that governed us all and met me halfway to paradise.

You cannot know" he said simply. "Very little is certain in this life, my lady.