We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered. – Tom Stoppard, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead

Love, she said, should be said more slowly, and ran from the house. Words could not catch her as such. Honesty is so slow, that is the trouble. – Author Unknown

I am the Love Cactus. Make desert to me. – Jarod Kintz, My love can only occupy one person at a time

And upsidedown in the earth a dead man walks upon my soles when I walk. – Bill Knott, “(End) of Summer (1966)” (Thanks, Laurie)