Even when things were going south, his heart knew she needed to be happy.
"I loved her far too much to want to keep on inflicting more suffering on her."
There was something about her.
"I recommend her to you, not as a husband but as an enthusiastic admirer of her work, acid and tender, hard as steel and delicate and fine as a butterfly's wing, lovable as a beautiful smile, and as profound and cruel as the bitterness of life."
He knew that there wasn't anyone else like Frida.
"Frida Kahlo is the greatest Mexican painter. Her work is destined to be multiplied by reproductions and will speak, thanks to books, to the whole world. It is one of the most formidable artistic documents and most intense testimonies on human truth of our time."
Rivera loved everything about her.
"I did not know it then, but Frida had already become the most important fact in my life. And would continue to be, up to the moment she died, 27 years later."
She was his everything.
"July 13, 1954 was the most tragic day of my life. I had lost my beloved Frida forever. Too late, now I realized that the most wonderful part of my life had been my love for Frida."