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“I don't know how to speak anymore. And with whom?

I never found a soulmate. No one was a dream. They left me with open dreams, with my central wound wide open, with my heart torn. I mourn myself; this is my right. And yet I look down on those who take no interest in me. My only desire has been.

I will not say it. Even I, or especially I, betray myself. Like a nursing boy, my soul has been soothed. I don't know how to speak anymore. I can't speak anymore. I have taken apart, what they never gave me, which was all I had. And it is death again. It closes in on me, it is my only horizon. No one resembles my dream. I have felt love and they mistreated it, yes, me, I who never loved. The deepest love will disappear forever. What can we love that isn't a shadow? The sacred dreams of childhood have already died, and with them, those of nature, which loved me.”
― Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962 - 1972

“There was a little padded seat beside the rattling panes and mouldy sand-bags, it was the coldest place in the room; but she kept there for an hour and a half, with a shawl about her, shivering, squinting at her stitches, and sneaking sly little glances at the road to the house.

I thought, if that wasn’t love, then I was a Dutchman; and if it was love, then lovers were pigeons and geese, and I was glad I was not one of them.”
― Sarah Waters, Fingersmith

“Your alternate dimension keeps crashing into this one & love's got me experiencing symptoms without ever getting sick of you.”
― Curtis Tyrone Jones

“I am told that a great man, greater by some inches than any other man, had ordered a remarkable costume to be made for him, and after all would not wear it; for he learned by chance that a certain lady, with whose person he was not acquainted, and to whom he never spoke a word in his life, would not be at the assembly.”
― Marie Rabutin-Chantal De Sevigne, The Letters of Madame De Sevigne to Her Daughter and Friends