And that's where the whole trouble is. We're too much alike to understand each other because we don't even understand our own selves.

Let me be something every minute of every hour of my life...And when I sleep, let me dream all the time so that not one little piece of living is ever lost.

She went out and took a last long look at the shabby little library. She knew she would never see it again. Eyes changed after they looked at new things. If in the years to be she were to come back, her new eyes might make everything seem different from the way she saw it now. The way it was now was the way she wanted to remember it.

It was the last time she’d see the river from that window. The last time of anything has the poignancy of death itself. This that I see now, she thought, to see no more this way. Oh, the last time how clearly you see everything; as though a magnifying light had been turned on it. And you grieve because you hadn’t held it tighter when you had it every day.

Bad quarrels come when two people are wrong. Worse quarrels come when two people are right.

We'll leave now, so that this moment will remain a perfect memory...let it be our song and think of me every time you hear it.

But she needs me more than she needs him and I guess being needed is almost as good as being loved. Maybe better.