Pentru tanarul Lennan urma apoi o perioada stranie, in care nu-si dadea seama de la un minut la altul daca era sau nu fericit, cautand sa fie mereu c… - John Galsworthy

Love is not a hot-house flower, but a wild plant, born of a wet night, born of an hour of sunshine; sprung from wild seed, blown along the road by a wild wind. A wild plant that, when it blooms by chance within the hedge of our gardens, we call a flower; and when it blooms outside we call a weed; but, flower or weed, whose scent and colour are always, wild!

She stood for a moment looking up at the stars, so far, so many, bright and cold. And with a faint smile she thought: ‘I wonder which is my lucky star!

FROME. What was the nature of your relations with him? RUTH. We were friends. THE JUDGE. Friends? RUTH. [Simply] Lovers, sir. THE JUDGE. [Sharply] In what sense do you use that word? RUTH. We love each other.