“Sometimes, I think I have made you up just to torture myself- and there are other times that I know you must be real because I couldn't have dreamed such perfection.”

“I dream about you every night. It's torture.""Why torture?""Because I wake up knowing I didn't actually touch you.”

“Do you think I'll ever have a real life?""Define real.""You know... a job, a family, a house, stuff like that.""Is that what you want?""I don't know. I used to think the idea of normal was awful, but maybe that was just because I never thought I could have it.”

“Do you know, André, I sometimes think that you have no heart.' 'Presumably because I sometimes betray intelligence.”

“And I want to tell you about everything but I can't because I couldn't stand for you to have that look on your face all the time. I just need you to look at me and think that I'm normal. I just really need that from you.”

“Who ARE You?”This was not an encouraging opening for a conversation. Alice replied, rather shyly,“I--I hardly know, sir, just at present-- at least I know who I WAS when I got up this morning, but I think I must have been changed several times since then.”