“People are dying and my generation just does not care. Including me. But I want to care. I really want to. I want to care so bad.”

“This is what I want. I want people to take care of me. I want them to force comfort upon me. I want the soft-pillow feeling that I associate with memories of being ill when I was younger, soft pillows and fresh linens and satin-edged blankets and hot chocolate. It's not so much the comfort itself as knowing there's someone who wants to take care of you.”

“I don't want to care. If I care about things, it'll just be worse, it'll just be another thing to worry about. It's less painful if I don't care.”

“I want YOU to be the one wanting me first. Pushing me first. Kissing me first. Don't be careful with me," he said. "Because I won't be careful with you.”

“This isn't love. It's something broken and ugly. I wanted it so badly I didn't care what it looked like.”

“I couldn't care less about evidence and proof and assurances. I just want God. I want God inside me. I want God to play in my bloodstream the way sunlight amuses itself on water.”