I know I said I don’t believe in change, but maybe it’s because I’m the only one who stays the same. There must be a reason why others who were once prominent in my life are moving on to more minor roles. It can’t be because they all grew out of what once linked us together or because we weren’t really as close at it seems. It must be something anew in each and everyone of them that allows them to progress into new characters. And since I’m designed to stay the same, no one is really destined to stay active in my life. 

"Adieu,” he said, “this is goodbye. I’ll never forget you, never.” She stood silent. He looked at her and saw her eyes full of tears. He turned away. At this moment she wasn’t ashamed of loving him, because her physical desire had gone and all she felt towards him now was pity and a profound, almost maternal tenderness. She forced herself to smile. “Like the Chinese mother who sent her son off to war telling him to be careful ‘because war has its dangers,’ I’m asking you, if you have any feelings for me, to be as careful as possible with your life.” Because it is precious to you?” he asked nervously. Yes. Because it is precious to me."

— Irène Némirovsky

No matter what language I attempt to pick up, I will never be able to effectively communicate the language of my feelings. 

I saw on TV today, this man lost his son, his son died. So he had him cremated, took his ashes, and then made it to a diamond ring. Now he watches his son shine everyday. 

"If she were running through the rye, if she were headed towards the abyss, I would grab hold with every ounce of my strength, with every scared beat of my heart, with every thought that could only be for her. And if I were to be running the same way, I’d like to think she’d do the same. But maybe her hands would be busy holding the book. Maybe she wouldn’t see me, too intent on looking for Phoebe from the carousel. Or waiting for Holden to hold her, to wrap her in the pages of his arms, to say she was the only one who truly knew him, as I plunged past her, sad to be leaving, and a little happy to be away."

— from My Girlfriend is in Love with Holden Caulfield by David Levithan

"Let the woman wake
from sleep, as she does each morning
of her life. Let her arm
reach out, drowsy, and brush
the bedroom curtains aside,
let her watch for five whole minutes
the cat washing herself
on the front lawn, the bird
pecking madly at damp earth,
the neighbor clutching the front of her robe
as she steps out the door
and stoops for her morning paper.
Let the sunlight be quiet
and warm across the lawn. Let the grass
be succulent and green.
Let the day unfold like a perfect
equation, every moment growing
toward some simple answer,
some singular integer.
Let the woman stand for the thesis,
the given, all the formulas that build
a body of knowledge. Let her waking
be the question, and the window
equal some visible understanding, the work
she is asked to show. Let the neighbor
and the curtains be variables, the light
and the lawn be the sum
of each other, the pure reciprocity of morning.
Let the woman’s hand, opening
curtains, and the woman, rising,
be a new theorem, solid and given,
the beginning of an elegant
and irrefutable proof."

— Let X Equal… by Anne Haines