She had never loved him so much as she did in that instant.

I loved him so much. Love him so much. I don’t know why I use the past tense. It’s not as if love dies with the beloved.

He was my equal in beauty, a paragon of grace and charm, sparkling with wit, and burning with love. I adored him to distraction, to the point of idolatry: I loved him as one can never love twice.

He was magnificent, and I will never forget that in that moment, I first loved him. And I never stopped loving him. I do now and always will. No one ever brought me more sorrow or pain or joy than he did. No, nothing, not even my sons, has ever outweighed the love I feel and still feel for him. And I believe – had I known what the future held for us: all the trouble, torment, battle, and grief of our lives – I still believe that I would have yielded my heart into his keeping as I did then

I loved him too much not to hate him at all!

I loved him as we always love for the first time; with idolatry and wild passion.

He hadn't loved me well in the end, but he'd loved me well when it mattered.

I didn't love him, but I liked him being in love with me.

No one had ever had such a friend — so affectionate, so loyal, and so skillful.

If I hadn't met you, I'd certainly have fallen in love with him.

I never met a man I didn't like.

O how I envied him his feelings!

I have never in my life met a man like him for noble simplicity, and boundless truthfulness. I understood from the way he talked that anyone who chose could deceive him, and that he would forgive anyone afterwards who had deceived him, and that was why I grew to love him.

I never met a man that I didn't like.