Friday, April 13, 2007


He's the sort who can't know anyone intimately, least of all a woman. He doesn't know what a woman is. He wants you for a possession, something to look at, like a painting or an ivory box. Something to own and to display. He doesn't want you to be real, and to think and to live. He doesn't love you. But I love you. I want you to have your own thoughts and ideas and feelings, even when I hold you in my arms. It's our last chance...

- A Room with a View

1 comment:

raraavis said...

"I have to go. They trust me."
"Why should they, when you deceived everyone, including yourself?"