There is no such thing as no choice. There is always a choice. The only question is whether it's a bearable one.

Love is so painful, how could you ever wish it on anybody? And love is so essential, how could you ever stand in its way?

me: you know what sucks about love? o.w.g.: what? me: that it's so tied to the truth.

It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.

The world is quieter now. It is never quiet, but it can get quieter. What strange creatures we are, to find silence peaceful, when permanent silence is the thing we most dread. Nighttime is not that. Nighttime still rustles, still creaks and whispers and trembles in its throat. It is not darkness we fear, but our own helplessness within it. How merciful to have been granted the other senses.

When first love ends, most people eventually know there will be more to come. They are not through with love. Love is not through with them. It will never be the same as the first, but it will be better in different ways.

There's no way to release yourself from a memory. It ends when it wants to end, whether it's in a flash or long after you've begged it to stop.