“There was a silence between them for a moment, and she wondered if all women, when in love, were torn between two impulses, a longing to throw modesty and reserve to the winds and confess everything, and an equal determination to conceal the love forever, to be cool, aloof, utterly detatched, to die rather than admit a thing so personal, so intimate.”
— Daphne DuMaurier
Tag: romance

I think it takes a great deal of courage for women to write their silly love stories for the public, all the sweet secret things in their hearts.
The trouble is not that I am single and likely to stay single, but that I am lonely and likely to stay lonely.
True love is not so much a matter of romance as it is a matter of anxious concern for the well-being of one’s companion.
It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too. You’re nodding your head.
It’s bullshit to think of friendship and romance as being different. They’re not. They’re just variations of the same love. Variations of the same desire to be close.
For we did make up. But we didn’t forgive each other. And we didn’t take steps. And it got to be too late and we saw that each of us had invested too much in being in the right and we walked away and it was a relief.

