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Love, love, love – all the wretched cant of it, masking egotism, lust, masochism, fantasy under a mythology of sentimental postures, a welter of self-induced miseries and joys, blinding and masking the essential personalities in the frozen gestures of courtship, in the kissing and the dating and the desire, the compliments and the quarrels which vivify its barrenness.
— Germaine Greer
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I wanted impossible things. I wanted my life with her before it all turned bad. What I had been given had been taken away and now I was even less than before.
— Philip O Ceallaigh
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