There are more experiences in life than you’d think for which there are no words.

Sydney discovers that she minds the loss of her mourning. When she grieved, she felt herself to be intimately connected to Daniel. But with each passing day, he floats away from her. When she thinks about him now, it is more as a lost possibility than as a man. She has forgotten his breath, his musculature.

And so a person can never promise to love someone forever because you never know what might come up, what terrible thing the person you love might do.

Is imagination dependent upon experience, or is experience influenced by imagination?

Sometimes it seems to me that all of life is a struggle to contain the natural impulses of the body and spirit, and that what we call character represents only the degree to which we are successful in this endeavor.

The weight of his losses finally too much to bear. But not before he has known the unforgiving light of the equator, a love that exists only in his imagination, and the enduring struggle to capture in words the infinite possibilities of a life not lived.

Love is never as ferocious as when you think it's going to leave you.