You are significant without a significant other.
As the panic mounts and the jungle drums begin beating and you realize that the passion has run dry, and your heart runs weary, just stop. Sit there for a moment; breathing slowly, quietly. Let your mind wander. Get it all out. All the junk, all the clutter that clouds the truth. Everything that’s driving you crazy, let it go. But don’t dwell here. Don’t let it suck you in. Now go back and breathe, slowly and calmly, and remember that joy you felt when your eyes swelled with wonder and your heart fluttered with the possibilities. Get there again. And start again.
I’ve always wanted to make sure people are okay, ever since I was a little girl.
It’s a terrible thing, I think, in life to wait until you’re ready. I have this feeling now that actually no one is ever ready to do anything. There is almost no such thing as ready. There is only now. And you may as well do it now. Generally speaking, now is as good a time as any.
At last she looked up at him. Her eyes were full of tears, and her look unbearably naked. Such looks we have all once or twice in our lives received and shared; they are those in which worlds melt, pasts dissolve, moments when we know, in the resolution of profoundest need, that the rock of ages can never be anything else but love, here, now, in these two hands’ joining, in this blind silence in which one head comes to rest beneath the other.
― John Fowles, The French Lieutenant’s Woman (via kvtes