To love is to see myself in you and to wish to celebrate myself with you. What I love is the embodiment of my values in another person. Love is an act of self-assertion, self-expression and a celebration of being alive.

It was you Nabi, she said in my ear. It was always you. Didn't you know?

But death is not a subject that his doctors, friends, or family can countenance. That is what causes him his most profound pain.

There are as many worlds as there are kinds of days, and as an opal changes its colors and its fire to match the nature of a day, so do I.

Written By John Steinbeck

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