I don’t want just words. If that’s all you have for me, you’d better go

But I always felt that I'd rather be provincial hot-tamale than soup without seasoning.

So we'll just let things take their course, and never be sorry.

I won’t kiss you. It might get to be a habit and I can’t get rid of habits.

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

Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.

I can’t tell you just how wonderful she is. I don’t want you to know. I don’t want any one to know.