Her beauty climbed the rolling slope, it came into the room, rustling ghost-like through the curtains.

I want to tell you about your heart— you've probably been neglecting your heart—and you don’t know.

Laughter is easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word.

All I think of ever is that I love you.

Love is fragile -- she was thinking -- but perhaps the pieces are saved, the things that hovered on lips, that might have been said. The new love-words, the tenderness learned, and treasured up for the next lover.

When I'm with you, I don't breathe quite right.

the best contacts are when one knows the obstacles and still wants to preserve a relation.