“I never know what I’m going to want to curl up in bed with.” I shrug.“How about a man?” she retorts.”

“consider the implications. We think we know what we want, but we can never really know until we've got it. And sometimes when we have, we discover we never really wanted it in the first place - but then it's too late”

“So, who is it?" Stella is persisting, somewhat suspiciously. "What's his name?"But if I don't tell her the truth, what do I say? My mind draws a blank. I don't want to lie to her- "um..." walking back to the bedroom, I notice the postcard Spike chose for me resting on my top of my dresser. I haven't written that one yet. Absently I pick it up and turn it over. On the back is written "Matthew Macfadyen as Fitzwilliam Darcy." "Fitzwilliam," I blurt. "No, what's his first name?" she asks. "That is his first name.”

“If you want a man who's commited, go look in a mental hospital.”

“It was the feeling she'd had when Sam had first kissed her in the pub. When he'd first put his lips against her. She didn't know if she'd imagined it or if it had just been the effects of the booze, but it had felt as if a thousand flash bulbs were going off in her brain. As if someone had turned on a very bright, very intense light. And she;d sure as hell never wanted to switch it off.”

“i thought love was about caring about someone day in and day out, about being there when it's fucking amazing, and still wanting to be there when it feels like crap. i thought it was about for ever' -will, calling romeo”

“I am a hopeless romantic. A silly, ridiculous, foolish romantic. I live in a fantasy land. I need to get real. And now, for the first time, I want to get real. I want a real relationship with a real man in the real world–-with all the real problems, faults, and whatever comes with it.”