“I think to feel this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.”

“I was too miserable to take much consolation just from feeling good for a moment in a welter of shudders and salted, bloodstained tears.”

“You make me miserable. You really do, I want you to know that. Much as I love you, much as I need you, much as I can't exist without you, you make me miserable.”

“It's not so," I said. "And how long do you think it will sustain you, feeling and seeing and touching and tasting, if there is no love? No one with you?”

“I feel like an outsider, and I always will feel like one. I've always felt that I wasn't a member of any particular group.”

“Do you know what I think about crying? I think some people have to learn to do it. But once you learn, once you know how to really cry, there's nothing quite like it. I feel sorry for those who don't know the trick. It's like whistling or singing.”

“Yes, I know," "And I love to hear you say it, Louis. I need to hear you say it. I don't think anyone will ever say it quite like you do. Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!”