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Thank you mellyjelly/drumthings for this fantabulous skin=D

Could you really love someone who was capable of falling in love with somebody else?

What if love wasn't the act of finding what you were missing but the give and take that made you both match?

It was possible that a miracle was not something that happened to you, but rather something that didn't.

Relationships always sounded so physically painful: You fell in love, you broke a heart, you lost your head. Was it any wonder that people came through the experience with battle scars? The problem with a marriage - or maybe its strength - was that it spanned a distance, and you were never the same person you started out being. If you were lucky, you could still recognise each other years later. If you weren't, you wound up in your office with a boy fifteen years younger than you were, pouring his heart into your open hands.

When you loved someone, you did whatever you thought was in her best interests, even if - at the time - it looked utterly wrong. Men did this for women, mothers did it for sons. What made a hero a hero? Was it winning all the time, like Superman? Or was it taking on the risk reluctantly, like Spider Man? Was it learning, like the X-Men had, that at any moment you might fall from grace to become a villain? Or, like Alan Moore's Rorschach, was it being human enough to enjoy watching people die, if they deserved it?

It was no coincidence that fear could move a person to extremes, just as seamlessly as love. They were the conjoined twins of emotion: If you didn't know what was at stake to lose, you had nothing to fight for.

The Tenth Circle by Jodi Picoult