You are too kind, and I am unused to it. For your own sake, do not stroke my misery. It knows not how to respond, but with a vicious bite.
Great love, you believe, carries the seeds of great sorrow. Well, perhaps you are right. Perhaps the wise spurn one to remain safe from the other, but I should rather choose to have my eyes burnt in their sockets than to have been born without.
Fear not! I would rather tear the heart from your bosom than take your bow, for I believe you would miss it less.
He did not speak; merely looked at her with an expression she had seen traces of before but never fully understood until that moment. It was more apology than accusation—a dark stare of acknowledgment that told her he had long since seen his own fate in her actions, and had long since ceased to hold her responsible.