But maybe, underneath, she loves him too much. Maybe it's her excessive love that pushes him away. - Margaret Atwood

Love is a discipline, like prayer,” I said.

I wish I was ignorant, so I didn't know how ignorant I am

That kind of love comes and goes and is hard to remember afterwards, like pain. You would look at the man one day and you would think, I loved you, and the tense would be past, and you would be filled with a sense of wonder, because it was such an amazing and precarious and dumb thing to have done; and you would know too why your friends had been evasive about it, at the time. There is a good deal of comfort, now, in remembering this.