“How could she have a kind view of the world when the people who are supposed to love her the most, treat her so badly?”

“Whenever I hear a kid complain about their parents or even their siblings, I want to shake them. They don't realize what they have, and they especially don't realize that it could be taken away from them at any time.”

“We look down our noses at people who've made mistakes in relationships. She's so stupid! How could she do that! Our superiority makes us feel better. But I’d bet everything I have on the fact that people to claim to have a perfect record in love are either lying or have very limited dating experience. People who say, I’d never do that! Someday, unless you are very, very lucky, you’ll have a story to tell. Or not to tell.”

“So I put up with bad behavior in the name of loving the way I thought you were supposed to love.”

“You were supposed to have hope, right? You were supposed to respect its power and hold on. And so I did. I held, and held, and let hope fill me. But as the days went on, it seemed I could be holding for a long, long time. Hope could be the most powerful thing or the most useless”

“My definition of gawking would be when you look at her, your heart starts slamming uncontrollably in your chest. So much that it scares you. And every other noise that surrounds you slowly fades away into absolute silence. You only hear the sounds she makes. And when she looks back at you, when her eyes meet yours, it's as if she is looking deep inside your soul. And she can see all of the hatred you're consumed in. Her eyes quench the thirst of your soul, gently soothing your damaged heart in the most alluring way... a way you could only dream of. Then those magical eyes start to look away. The time-freeze you were caught in starts to wear off. And fear takes over. You want to pull those eyes to yours again so that you could once again feel the fascinating sensations of happiness. Then, when she's out of your sight, you feel empty inside. Your heart is back to normal. Only this time, it's left with an aching worse than before. But you can never tell her. You can never be with her. You are alone in your pitiful existence.”

“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.”