My child, human love is an infinite resource. No matter how many times it is expended, whether stolen or given away, love can grow again—like a flower from a bulb—and fill your heart.

God, I've missed you!" he said, and knew that he had, every day since he'd seen her last and most of all, perhaps on the days when he had not thought of her

She was a grown young woman when she was overtaken by what she supposed to be the climax of her fate. It was when the face and figure of a great tragedian began to haunt her imagination and stir her senses. The persistence of the infatuation lent it an aspect of genuineness. The hopelessness of it colored it with the lofty tones of a great passion.

Written By Kate Chopin

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