Two passages from Atlas Shrugged:

Reading few lines: Sometimes few words express what we thought we are capable of only feeling and not expressing....

Few random lines from the current chapter of the book I am reading.

"But you do," he said calmly, smiling. " you still love me- even if there's one expression of it that you'll always feel and want, but will not give me any longer. I'm still what I was, and you will always see it, and you will always grant me the same response, even if there's another man. No matter what you feel for him, it will not change what you feel for me, and it won't be treason to either, because it comes from the same root, it's the same payment in answer to the same valuess. No matter what happens in the future we will always be what we were to each other, you and I, because you'll always love me."
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That special pleasure she had felt in watching him eat the food she had prepared- she thought, lying still, her eyes closed, her mind moving, like time, through some realm of veiled sloness- it had been the pleasure of knowing that she provided him with a sensual enjoyment, that one form of his body's satisfaction had come from her... There is reason, she thought, why a woman would wish to cook for a man... ohh, not as a duty, not as a chronic career, only as a rare and special rite in symbol of... but what have they mad eof it, the preachers of woman's duty?