To cease to love is worse than to hate, for say what you will, death is worse than suffering. I am crying because one is alone. - Henri Barbusse

The man raised himself, fell down, and rose again. The wound that he had under his armor of filth was staining the ground, and when he had spoken, his wide-open eyes looked down at all the blood he had given for the healing of the world.

We deceive ourselves a good deal about love. It is almost never what they say it is.

I have put my arm round her waist, and I am shaken by the sorrow which agitates her chest and throat, and sometimes shakes her rudely, the sorrow which does not belong to me, which belongs to no one, and is like a divinity.