“Perhaps I’m being unfair to you,” he said, still not sounding like himself.” My feeling must be of the species they call passion…One thing I know for sure: without you it’s the end of me, and with you it’s also the end. It makes no difference where you are: far or near, you’re always present. I also know that I could hate you a good deal more than I could love you…I’m sorry that I had to fall in love with someone like you.”

— Fyodor Dostoevsky