Loving someone and having them love you back is the most precious thing in the world.

I think of you, I dream of you, I conjure you up when I need you most. This is all I can do, but to me it isn't enough. It will never be enough, this I know; yet what else is there for me to do? If you were here, you would tell me, but I have been cheated of even that. You always knew the proper words to ease the pain I felt. You always knew how to make me feel good inside.

That's good. And speaking of spelling, tell me -- do you wrap your head in a towel after you shower?

Poets knew that isolation in nature, far from people and things man-made, was good for the soul, and he'd always identified with poets.

Life, he decided, was for living, not for having, and he wanted to experience every moment that he could.

I've learned that we're all entitled to have our secrets.

That he would love her no matter what she told him, and that he was the kind of man who loved her already and would love her forever.