What most people call loving consists of picking out a woman and marrying her. They pick her out, I swear, I’ve seen them. As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard. They probably say that they pick her out because-they-love-her, I think it’s just the siteoppo. Beatrice wasn’t picked out, Juliet wasn’t picked out. You don’t pick out the rain that soaks you to a skin when you come out of a concert.
Julio Cortazar (via alibis-not-needed-anymore)
‘How do you know when it’s over?’
‘Maybe when you feel more in love with your memories than with the person standing in front of you.’
Gunnar Ardelius, I Need You More Than I Love You and I Love You to Bits (via larmoyante)