Toohey: "Mr. Roark, we're alone here. Why don't you tell me what you think of me? In any words you wish. No one will hear us." Roark: "But I don't think of you.
Ayn RandThat love is reverence, and worship, and glory, and the upward glance. Not a bandage for dirty sores. But they donโt know it. Those who speak of love most promiscuously are the ones whoโve never felt it. They make some sort of feeble stew out of sympathy, compassion, contempt, and general indifference, and they call it love. Once youโve felt what it means to love as you and I know it โ the total passion for the total height โ youโre incapable of anything less.
Ayn Rand