There is no vulture like despair.

There is not love of life without despair about life.

Nothing is more excruciating than hopelessly longing for lost love.

A bore is someone who deprives you of solitude without providing you with company.

I know nothing sadder than a hunchback in love or an ugly woman full of romantic ideals.

The soul knows no greater anguish than to take a breath that begins in love and ends with grief.

Spontaneous love can reach the point of despair, shows that it is in despair, that even when it is happy it loves with the power of despair.

So many lovers, yet there is no love.

Despair came over her, as it will when nobody around has any sexual relevance to you.

Love is never any better than the lover.

How a pleasant word of an old lover that said
When there is lovem there is no comfort.

To have loved and lost, either by that total disenchantment which leaves compassion as the sole substitute for love which can exist no more, or by the slow torment which is obliged to let go day by day all that constitutes the diviner part of love — namely, reverence, belief, and trust, yet clings desperately to the only thing left it, a long-suffering apologetic tenderness — this lot is probably the hardest any woman can have to bear.

Fancy lovers never last. (p81)

It's the tragedy of loving, you can't love anything more than something you miss. (p. 208)