and the two of them loved each other for a long time in silence without making love again.

Inspiration gives no warnings.

She wanted to be herself again, to recover all that she had been obliged to give up in half a century of servitude that had doubtless made her happy but which, once her husband was dead, did not leave her even the vestiges of her identity.

I think just the opposite is true: love is an ideology for eternal militants, and the more misfortunes life tries to burden us with, the more essential love becomes.

I'll never fall in love again... it's like having two souls at the same time.

She knew that he loved her above all else, more than anything in the world, but only for his own sake.

the bells of glory that announced to the world the good news that the uncountable time of eternity had come to an end