Character: Mrs. de winter

I am ready to give oath, to swear, to blaspheme and pray. Rebecca didn't win, Rebecca lost.

How could I get to you closer when I know that you're always thinking about Rebecca. How could I demand from you a love, knowing that in your soul reigns Rebecca!

What he said to me, broke all my thoughts and views to pieces, and I was just thinking about how to begin to pick up the pieces.

When people experience a big shock or physical trauma, they don't immediately feel the pain and the severity of the loss.

I couldn't deal with the dead Rebecca. She was stronger than me. If Maxim loved any one woman went to visit her, or eating, sometimes would stay with her overnight, I would fight. This woman could have grown old, to annoy him, to become indifferent, and then my victory would be complete. But dead Rebecca, I could not fight. She continued to stay young, beautiful and charming, and it was irreparable.

He never belonged to me, he belonged to Rebecca.

What is he thinking? Probably that wedding gift presented to me, destroyed the gift presented on the same occasion Rebecca.

So I'd like to live forever in peaceful conversation under the branches of a chestnut tree. I was afraid of the past afraid of the future. Stop forever this moment. But for the rest it wasn't the image of the iron eternity, but only a passing moment of everyday life. They weren't as intimidated as I am.

Easy to be calm and mellow, I thought, if you have not suffered the blows of fate, if not bathed in bitter tears, not knowing where to go from despair...

I've had enough melodrama in this life, and I willingly give my five senses if it helped to keep the present peace and security.

To explain what constitutes my father, it was easy and I never spoke. He was my personal property. I owned one. I kept the memories of him from all the people.

In an empty house can be as lonely as in a crowded hotel.

I'm glad it can't happen again - fever of first love. Because it's a fever and a burden, to say the poets. We are not mettle in twenty years. Our life is full of cowardly fear, has no under itself any soil, we are so easily hurt, so easy to hurt, the first sarcastic word puts us on the spot. Now, hidden under the armor of complacency creeping maturity, almost can't feel pin pricks, experiencing day after day and then forget about them, but then... how long has sounded in your ears careless word, burning in the heart of the stigma, which seemed eternal imprint left sidelong glance, thrown over his shoulder.