He loved her, of course, but better than that, he chose her, day after day. Choice: that was the thing.
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Sherman Alexie
Kiss a lover, Dance a measure, Find your name And buried treasure. Face your life, It's pain, It's pleasure, Leave no path untaken.
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Neil Gaiman
Love is the will to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth... Love is as love does. Love is an act of will -- namely, both an intention and an action. Will also implies choice. We do not...
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M. Scott Peck
I miss us too. I always have and I probably always will. Sometimes there are no happy endings. No matter what, I'll be losing something, someone. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>But maybe that's what it all comes down to. Love, not as a surge of passion, but...
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Emily Giffin
Choice or no, my heart is his.
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Beth Revis
More Quotes By Dennis Lehane
We all know who you are, Mr. Coughlin. Famous Yankee gangster. Friend of the colonel. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>It would be safer for a man to swim into the middle of the ocean and cut his own throat than to threaten you.' He solemnly made the...
Happiness doesn't lie in conspicuous consumption and the relentless amassing of useless crap. Happiness lies in the person sitting beside you and your ability to talk to them. Happiness is clear-headed human interaction and empathy. Happiness is home. <span style="margin:15px; display:block"></span>And home is not a...
And often the worst thing wasn't the victims--they were dead, after all, and beyond any more pain. The worst thing was those who loved them and survived them. Often the walking dead from now on, shell-shocked, hearts ruptured, stumbling through the remainder of their lives...
I believe in God. Maybe not the Catholic God or even the Christian one because I have a hard time seeing any God as elitist. I also have a hard time believing that anything that created rain forests and oceans and an infinite universe would,...
Some ghost of myself still lived back in the days when we'd shared a bed and talked of the future. But that love we'd had and those selves we'd been were gone, placed in a box like old photographs and letters you'd never read again.
