“I just do art because I’m ugly and there’s nothing else for me to do.”

“And I never felt this way with anyone else. Like I’m falling every time I’m around you, like I can’t catch my breath, and I feel alive—not just standing around and letting my life walk past me. There’s been nothing like that with anyone else.”

“Do you have difficulty sleeping?”“Sometimes not. When I do it’s bad, though. I lie there thinking about how everything I’ve done is a failure, death and failure, and there’s no hope for me except being homeless, because I’m never going to be able to hold a job because everyone else is so much smarter.”

“There’s nothing here,” Carter said.“What do you want?” I asked. “We’ve got wax, some toilet papyrus, an ugly statue.”

“Back in high school, I never understood how Amy could enjoy getting with guys just for the short haul. In a way, though, making out like this is more enjoyable because there’s no pressure for me to not do or say anything stupid. What’s the worst that can happen if I do? So I’m freer to focus on what I’m feeling, not what he feels about me.”

“I just told her I love her. There’s no going back. Nothing to do but own it. But there’s the crux of the matter—I want to own it.”