A great giftwe can giveto ourselvesis a willingnessto love everyone,no matter what.This frees us completely from the toxicjustificationswe use to hate.

Do you mind?” she asked.“Mind what?”“While you were looking in the mirror I couldn’t help myself and I began fantasizing about you. And I figured if I was going to continue to fantasize about you, the only polite thing to do was to ask your permission. So now I’m doing the polite thing again and asking, ‘do you mind?’”“No, Nina. I don’t mind at all.”Then she leaned down and kissed him.

Our lives were now worlds apart, separated by time, circumstance, and the unbridgeable chasm of money.

I'd rather be not the light in your lifeThe bright day might make me obscureI'd rather be the cold darknessFor it remains, unseen, uncertain and unsure.

Look for the heart in a man before you look at what he has.

Love encompasses so much, reaches so far, and heals so deeply, that any attempt to describe it, no matter how poetic, only dilutes it.

I have only known you about five months. But you know every piece of my life, all the ugly details. Now I'm asking you to trust me with yours—not because I want to know your stuff, but because I want to know you. What made you this amazing woman that you are, this woman that I've grown to admire and love. I want to know her story.

Clara shrugged and immediately knew her betrayal of Peter. In one easy movement she'd distanced herself from his bad behavior, even thought she herself was responsible for it. Just before everyone had arrived, she'd told Peter about her adventure with Gamache. Animated and excited she'd gabbled on about her box and the woods and the exhilarating climb up the ladder to the blind. But her wall of words hid from her a growing quietude. She failed to notice his silence, his distance, until it was too late and he'd retreated all the way to his icy island. She hated that place. From it he stood and stared, judged, and lobbed shards of sarcasm.'You and your hero solve Jane's death?''I thought you'd be pleased,' she half lied. She actually hadn't thought at all, and if she had, she probably could have predicted his reaction. But since he was comfortably on his Inuk island, she'd retreat to hers, equipped with righteous indignation and warmed by moral certitude. She threw great logs of 'I'm right, you're an unfeeling bastard' onto the fire and felt secure and comforted.

Your silence is loudest to those who love you most.

Trust doesn't need any proof, its always hypothetical.