It's stupid to claim that one human being is special, or picked out by God, when in fact there are hundreds of millions of human beings in the world, and God knows how many millions of people long dead who have been lost to history, all of whom were probably special to someone.

Love itself is what is left over when being "in love" has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

Women only nag when they feel unappreciated.

The garden where you sit Has never a need of flowers, For you are the blossoms And only a fool or the blind Would fail to know it

He gets into the habit of thinking so passionately at night that he begins to be persecuted by insomnia.

Love is a kind of dementia with very precise and oft-repeated clinical symptoms. You blush in each other's presence, you both hover in places where you expect the other to pass, you are both a little tongue-tied, you both laugh inexplicably and too long, you become quite nauseatingly girlish, and he becomes quite ridiculously gallant. You have also grown a little stupid.

In reality the world is as full of bad mothers as it is of bad fathers, and it is not the motherless children who become delinquent but the fatherless ones.