“I still believed he'd love me again somehow, love me that intense, thick way he did, the way that made everything good.”

“Would you still love me if I killed someone?” I said nothing. My breath was coming too fast. “I would still love you,” Go said. “Go, do you really need me to say it?” She stayed silent. “I did not kill Amy.” She stayed silent. “Do you believe me?” I asked. “I love you.”

“He is learning to love me unconditionally, under all my conditions. I think we are finally on our way to happiness. I have finally figured it out.”

“My parents are worried, of course, but how can I feel sorry for them, since they made me this way and then deserted me?”

“You stopped loving me. We're a sick, fucking toxic Möbius strip, Amy. We weren't ourselves when we fell in love, and when we became ourselves - surprise! - we were poison. We complete each other in the nastiest, ugliest possible way. You don't even really love me, Amy. You don't even like me. Divorce me. Divorce me, and let's try to be happy.”

“I always feel sad for the girl that I was, because it never occurred to me that my mother might comfort me. She has never told me she loved me, and I never assumed she did. She tended to me. She administrated me.”

“He has a great smile, a cat's smile. He should cough out yellow Tweety Bird feathers, the way he smiles at me.”