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my determination, and I said I'd never love someone again like this. Is there any sense in loving someone you can only wake up to by chance?

I heard your intake of astonishment at the effort of beauty and the beauty of effort, as the horse cleared the jump. There's no such thing as effortless beauty--you should know that. There's no effort which is not beautiful--lifting a heavy stone or loving you. Loving you is like lifting a heavy stone. It would be easier not to do it and I'm not quite sure why I'm doing it. It takes all my strength and all

having sex?"
"You talk as though I've had an amputation."
"I think you have. I think someone has cut out your heart."

clean, it's not containable.
She held out her hand. "You're still angry."
"I'm still alive."
What to say? That the end of love is a haunting. A haunting of dreams. A haunting of silence. Haunted by ghosts it is easy to become a ghost. Life ebbs. The pulse is too faint. Nothing stirs you. Some people approve of this and call it healing. It is not healing. A dead body feels no pain.
She said, "Do you still like

She held out her hand. What a strange world it is where you can have as much sex as you want but love is taboo. I'm talking about the real thing, the grand passion, which may not allow affection or convenience or happiness. The truth is that love smashes into your life like an ice floe, and even if your heart is built like the Titanic you go down. That's the size of it, the immensity of it. It's not proper, it's not

"You're an absolutist then." "What's one of those?" "All or nothing." "What else is there?" "The middle ground. Ever been there?" "I've seen it on a map."