Are you in love with one who is not living ?" "Yes." "You love one whom you know to be dead ?" "Yes; dead." "How do you know that she is dead ?" "That is not the question.

I knew that when I fell in love with her.

It is not that which appals me; I ask nothing more than to live my life out loving the dead.

I--I ask very little." He passed his unsteady hand across his dry lips, across his eyes and forehead, then laid his clinched fist on the table.
"Some men remain constant to a memory; some to a picture--sane, wholesome, normal men.

Some men, with a fixed ideal, never encounter its facsimile, and so never love.