unrequited-love

Amid the worry of a self- condemnatory soliloquy, his demeanour seemed grave, perhaps cold, both to me and his mother. And yet there was no bad feeling, no malice, no rancour, no littleness in his countenance, beautiful with a man's best beauty, even in its depression. When I placed his chair at the table, which I hastened to do, anticipating the servant, and when I handed him his tea, which I did with trembling care, he said: "Thank you, Lucy," in as kindly a tone of his full pleasant voice as ever my ear welcomed.

One sided-love always goes with the urge of possessing.

Inadequate love is love. Unrequited love is love.

Once I saw Graham - wholly unconscious of her proximity - push her with his restless foot. She receded an inch or two. A minute after one little hand stole out from beneath her face, to which it had been pressed, and softly caressed the heedless foot.

It was like this sometimes, and I felt I should look away, but I couldn't. I wanted to be there, having my face touched, defeating a heart like Peter's, but the next best thing was seeing it for Tiger Lily.

There are those whose love awakens our own and those whose love undermines. As long as we are blind to this fact, true love will elude us.

For the first time she had dimly realized that only the hopeless are starkly sincere and that only the unhappy can either give or take sympathy--even some of the bitter and dangerous voluptuousness of misery.

The problem with me is that I cannot focus when she is on my mind. I can__. I probably will make a mistake when writing that paper and will start writing everything I feel about her__he professor will be very happy with that, I am sure. Oh well, such is my life. I guess I__e been attempting my best to forget her for several weeks now. But even in that act of forgetting her, I am remembering her. I am recollecting her and recreating her in my mind. And that__ where everything falls apart. In remembering her, I remember her goodness. In remembering her, I remember her weaknesses and my own. In remembering her, I am remembering myself. Out of that dark cave of mine, I call myself out. And then all of the remembering starts again. I doodle, I twitch, I aim restlessly for some unseen goal. And then my thoughts drift to you. I__l let them stay there for now. Just for a minute. Or two.

He doesn't even like me.I let the thought roll around in my head. Anything I feel during that time gets shoved into the vault with the ten-foot-think door slamming as soon as it goes in, just in case something in there has any intention of crawling out.

The pain would not leave him. It came to him like the tide that hits the sea.

I think I've found someone with who I want to spend my life with and that person...Isn't you.

Eternity has a way of letting us all grow up.

Cruelty is a language that the blind can see, the deaf can hear, and the heart feels forever.

...I'm the last person to ask about unrequited love - I've run away to the Moon and fled to its valleys...

I won't be a substitute for what you cannot have. Especially not if it is my sister's shadow you mean to place me in.

There is no such thing as unrequited love; the phrase ought to be stricken from the lexicon. Love is a thing shared, an intertwining of essential separateness into something not quite alone. There is nothing like it under the heavens. Like bread, it will not be made with flour or water alone; the recipe requires both. Guarding each other__ vulnerability provides the yeast that makes it rise, and salt from the tears that caring brings lends the finishing touch.

This is agony cried Mr Salteena clutching hold of a table my life will be sour grapes and ashes without you.

The effect on Lucy was not bad, for the faint seemed to merge subtly into the narcotic sleep. It was with a feeling of personal pride that I could see a faint tinge of colour steal back into the pallid cheeks and lips. No man knows, till he experiences it, what it is to feel his own lifeblood drawn away into the veins of the woman he loves.The Professor watched me critically. "That will do," he said. "Already?" I remonstrated. "You took a great deal more from Art." To which he smiled a sad sort of smile as he replied, "He is her lover, her fiance. You have work, much work to do for her and for others, and the present will suffice.