I have sea foam in my veins, I understand the language of waves.
— Jean Cocteau, Le Testament d’Orphée (1960)
If you can just stop loving her then you never really loved her at all. Love doesn’t work that way. If you ever truly love someone, then it never goes away. It can become something else. There are all different sorts of love. It can even become hate—a thin line and all that—and, really, hate is just another kind of caring.
— Blakney Francis, Someone I Used to Know