“I can’t even think about what life “couldhave been” like in Boston, without crying. It’s like deja-vu, I don’t think meand Boston were ever meant to be.”

“Madame Arnauld made a little face. 'I did not think they were so aristocratic,' she said, 'even if they come from Boston, which is supposed to be the most refined place in America.”

“I don’t want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can’t think again. Not ever again.”

“I'm having amnesia and deja vu at the same time. I think I've forgotten this before.”

“You’ll leave me the second it gets too steep, and you’ll leave me with nothing – when I want you like I’ve never wanted anything in life. You’re all I think about, dream about. I get high and low and it’s not about you now, it’s not even about me anymore. I can’t sleep, can’t think, can’t concentrate worth shit anymore and it’s all because I want to be the fucking ‘one’ for you.”

“Charlie, don’t you get it? I can’t feel that. It’s sweet and everything, but it’s like you’re not even there sometimes. It’s great that you can listen and be a shoulder to someone, but what about when someone doesn’t need a shoulder? What if they need the arms or something like that? You can’t just sit there and put everybody’s lives ahead of yours and think that counts as love. You just can’t. You have to do things.”