“I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness, dead people need us to rememer them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say “I am sorry”, until its as meaningless as air.”

“I wish for a moment that time would lift me out of this day, and into some more benign one. But then I feel guilty for wanting to avoid the sadness; dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say "I'm sorry" until it is as meaningless air.”

“...dead people need us to remember them, even if it eats us, even if all we can do is say I'm sorry until it is as meaningless as air”

“...and I suddenly feel that Henry is there, incredible need for Henry to be there and to put his hand on me even while it seems to me that Henry is the rain and I am alone and wanting him- Clare”

“This spirit, this feeling that things aren't right and, in fact, things are so wrong than the only thing we can do is say Fuck It, over and over again, really loud until someone stops us.”

“Of course.. some people, me included, believe that punk is just the most recent manifestation of this, this spirit, this feeling, you know, that things aren't right and that in fact things are so wrong that the only thing we can do is to say Fuck It, over and over again, really loud, until someone stops us.”

“Alba, it's okay,' Clare says softly. She looks at me. 'Say the poem about lovers on the carpet.'I blank, and then I remember. I feel self-conscious reciting Rilke in front of all these people, and so I begin: 'Engel!: Es wäre ein Platz, den wir nicht wissen-''Say it in English,' Clare interrupts.'Sorry.”