Never forget me, because if I thought you would, I'd never leave.
Absence from whom we love is worse than death, and frustrates hope severer than despair.
Love is missing someone whenever you're apart, but somehow feeling warm inside because you're close in heart.
Can miles truly separate you from friends... If you want to be with someone you love, aren't you already there?
Life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.
Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
And ever has it been known that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.
The reason it hurts so much to separate is because our souls are connected.
No distance of place or lapse of time can lessen the friendship of those who are thoroughly persuaded of each other's worth.
Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires.
Good-byes breed a sort of distaste for whomever you say good-bye to; this hurts, you feel, this must not happen again.
Why can't we get all the people together in the world that we really like and then just stay together? I guess that wouldn't work. Someone would leave. Someone always leaves. Then we would have to say good-bye. I hate good-byes. I know what I need. I need more hellos.
The world is round and the place which may seem like the end may also be only the beginning.
How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.
Nothing makes the earth seem so spacious as to have friends at a distance; they make the latitudes and longitudes.
A man never knows how to say goodbye; a woman never knows when to say it.
Sweet is the memory of distant friends! Like the mellow rays of the departing sun, it falls tenderly, yet sadly, on the heart.
Only in the agony of parting do we look into the depths of love.
Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened.
I wanted a perfect ending. Now I've learned, the hard way, that some poems don't rhyme, and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.
The best things said come last. People will talk for hours saying nothing much and then linger at the door with words that come with a rush from the heart.
The return makes one love the farewell.
As the presence of those we love is as a double life, so absence, in its anxious longing and sense of vacancy, is as a foretaste of death.
Man's feelings are always purest and most glowing in the hour of meeting and of farewell.
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