Love is like the measles, all the worse when it comes late.
A little work, a little sleep, a little love and it's all over.
The stage on which we play our little dramas of life and love has for most of us but one setting.
... if one can remember without loving, then couldn't one love without remembering?
Great loves were almost always great tragedies. Perhaps it was because love was never truly great until the element of sacrifice entered into it.