“So tell me how you think this ends.”

“So how long do you think it’ll be?” he says. “Before the next hurricane comes along to take you home.”“Can I tell you my biggest fear?” I say.“Yes. Tell me.”“That it will be a very windless four years.”

“Don’t tell me how educated you are, tell me how much you have travelled.”

“Let me tell you how the story ends, where the good guys die and the bad guys win. It doesn't matter how many friend you make, but the graffite they write on your grave.”

“Time stretched, expanded so there was just him and me and the closenss, and I thought how it was all very well to tell yourself what you should and shouldn't feel but in the end the should word didn't make the slightest scrap of difference.”

“I want a love like me thinking of you thinking of me thinking of you type love, or me telling my friends more than I've ever admitted to myself about how I feel about you type love ”