Flow, My Tears, the Policeman Said.

by Philip K. Dick

In a confrontation with a woman it ran nearly ninety per cent bluff, on both sides. It all lay in how you did it, not what you did.

I am like Byron, he thought, fighting for freedom, giving up his life to fight for Greece.

Love is’ – she paused, reflecting – ‘like a father saving his children from a burning house, getting them out and dying himself. When you love you cease to live for yourself; you live for another person.’

And you can’t feel grief unless you’ve had love before it – grief is the final outcome of love, because it’s love lost.

It’s the cycle of love completed: to love, to lose, to feel grief, to leave, and then to love again.

And if something comes between you and a child – such as death or a terrible calamity such as a divorce – you never recover.’