'I often think some passionate thing will last forever, Carlo. You know that. That's what the passione is all about. Believing in forever. It is a kind of wishful magic.'
'There's a difference in believing and wishing, 'Ilia.'
'No regrets?'
'Oh, Carlito, there are always regrets.'
“With her arms quivering awkwardly, she finally achieved in death what a sybaritic life had denied her, a moment that lasted forever.“
“Within moments the smoky aroma of lapsang souchong was penetrating the smudgy corners of the large square room, and its fragrance carried her to places, so many places, where she had gathered memories, sweet and ugly, a library of emotions that she had never managed to put in order, never managed to organize. Everything was there, but it was bedlam; she never knew what she would find when she went looking...how much more absurd could life become?
“Desolate in her depression, she felt like a long-reformed whore who after years of abstinence had returned again to loveless sheets, preferring even one moment of counterfeit affection to endless nights of genuine loneliness. Nothing compared to moral failure in its resulting isolation. For momentary comfort you were left with only the sour aftertaste of everlasting regret.“
Requiem For a Glass Heart | 
