As long as there is life there is hope and action and love.

As long as you can love you can't be sick to death of it.' Mr.Kane spoke in his deliberate, monotonous tones.
Helen was silent for a little while.

She was wondering; not about Mr.
Kane, nor about his suffering, nor about the oddity of thus talking with him about her own.

It was no more odd to talk to him than if he had been the warm-hearted dog, dowered for her benefit with speech; she was wondering about what he said and about that love to which he alluded.
'Perhaps I don't know much about love,' she said, and more to herself than to Mr.Kane.
'I've inferred that since knowing you,' said Franklin.
'I mean, of course,' Helen defined, 'the selfless love you are talking of.' 'Yes, I understand,' said Franklin.

'Now, you see, the other sort of love, the sort that makes people go away and cry in the woods--for I've been crying because I'm hopelessly in love, Miss Buchanan, and I presume that you are too--well, that sort of love can't escape ruin sometimes.
That side of life may go to pieces and then there's nothing left for it but to cry.