“You? I know you! You trust beyond reason.” She met his eyes steadily. “Yes. It’s how I get results beyond hope. As you may recall.” - Lois McMaster Bujold

He leaned forward to put his elbows on the comconsole, and lace his fingers together, and regarded Miles with a kind of clinical disapproval, as if he were a data point that messed up the curve, and Illyan was deciding if he could still save the theory by re-classifying him as experimental error.

He knew now why they called it “falling in love.” There was the same nauseating vertigo of free fall, the same vast exhilaration, the same sick certainty of broken bones upon impact with a rapidly rising reality.

He was borrowing trouble, reasoning in advance of his data.