I do love her, and that’s odd because she is everything I detest in anyone else.

... there was a lack of equilibrium between her nerves and her blood, a disorder of the brain and heart which made her lead a life out of the ordinary, different from that of the rest of the world.

I love her beauty, but I fear her mind.

I think she is confused by the way I want her, which is like nobody else. I know this deep down. I want her in a new way, a way she's never been told about.

I love her doubting and anguish;
I love the love she withholds;
I love my love that loveth her
And anew her being moulds.

لن نتلاقى أبدا. هي تحبني ولكنها ترفض التسليم بلا قيد، وأنا أحبها ولكني أرفض القيد. ولا هذا ولا ذاك بالحب الحقيقي الذي تمحى عنده الإرادة والعقل.

I love my love with a b because she is peculiar.

Sometimes I don't understand how another can love her, is allowed to love her, since I love her so completely myself, so intensely, so fully, grasp nothing, know nothing, have nothing but her!

A woman whom we love seldom satisfies all our needs, and we deceive her with a woman we do not love.

Often we fail to consider the fact that our social, spiritual, and intellectual interests are miles apart. Our value systems and goals are contradictory, but we are in love.

... il y avait en elle un manque d'équilibre entre le sang et les nerfs, une sorte de détraquement du cerveau et du cœur, qui la faisait vivre en dehors de la vie ordinaire, autrement que tout le monde.

I’m not so sure which is better. But she either likes or loves me. And that’s nice.

Je vous aime,
Beaucoup moins que mon Dieu, mais bien plus que moi-même.

She may be mad, he realizes abruptly. Not clinically insane, just at odds with the entire universe. Locked into a pathological view of her own role in reality.