— Leon, I think I'm kind of falling in love with you.
— ...
— It's the first time for me, you know?
— How do you know it's love if you've never been in love before?
— Cos I feel it...
— Where?
— In my stomach. It's all warm. I always had a knot there, and now...it's gone.
— Mathilda, I'm glad you don't have a stomach ache anymore. I don't think that means anything...
First love's all right as far as it goes. Last love, that's what I'm interested in.
I have to tell you something. I still know which stars are ours.
What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast’s friend:
Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes,
With you, kindest friends, in idea I rove;
Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,
Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.
Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee, because thou hast left thy first love.