And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.
It's sad, but sometimes moving on with the rest of your life, starts with goodbye.
Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell.
Saying goodbye doesn't mean anything. It's the time we spent together that matters, not how we left it.
No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.
When the end comes, dark and hungry I'll be alone, love When the end comes, black and starving I'll say good-bye, love.-from Golden Tongue: The Poems of Steven Slaughter
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