I know a planet where there is a certain red-faced gentleman.He has never smelled a flower.
He has never looked at a star.
He has never loved any one.
He has never done anything in his life but add up figures.
And all day he says over and over, just like you:
'I am busy with matters of consequence!'
And that makes him swell up with pride.
But he is not a man — he is a mushroom!
But, Scarlett, did it ever occur to you that even the most deathless love could wear out?... Mine wore out...Did it ever occur to you that I loved you as much as a man can love a woman? Loved you for years before I finally got you? During the war I'd go away and try to forget you, but I couldn't and I always had to come back....I loved you but I couldn't let you know it. You're so brutal to those who love you, Scarlett. You take their love and hold it over their heads like a whip.
If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger: I should not seem a part of it.—My love for Linton is like the foliage in the woods: time will change it, I’m well aware, as winter changes the trees. My love for Heathcliff resembles the eternal rocks beneath: a source of little visible delight, but necessary.