“Intimacy is a word with eight letters. A word with a sly hiss to it. But then it begins, like love affairs do, with a chance meeting, and then a raw empty something needing to be sated, something you didn‘t notice before…but suddenly it squawks like a hungry bird, day and night, refusing to be ignored. You love and revile it, this sore shrieking something. Or is it nothing? Or everything? It doesn‘t matter. It‘s yours. It‘s you.”

“Fear and excitement are chemically the same. Sadness is a hair away from melancholy. Melancholy is almost pleasure, brushing against happiness. It’s all the fucking same.”

“Falling in love is like that: you always feel like a dumbass at some point, even if you know it‘s coming — it‘s unavoidable.”

“Love' was a word I had cheapened with overuse over the years, bleeding it dry of meaning by saying it purely from force of habit, or to convince myself of something of which I was far from sure. I wanted to wait until the words started to feel meaningful again before I used them.”

“If you want to see a man come to his senses, try something like, Do you happen to carry a rubber in your wallet? Did I mention I'm not on the pill?”

“I think you can scare somebody out of doing something, but not out of feeling like they want to.”

“nothing exciting ever happens, so you stop thinking it's going to. and then something does happen, and you miss it. completely. ”