“Why?" she screamed. "Are you crazy? You know the English subjunctive, you understand trigonometry, you can read Marx, and you don't know the answer to something as simple as that? Why do you even have to ask? Why do you have to make a girl SAY something like this? I like you more than I like him, that's all. I wish I had fallen in love with somebody a little more handsome, of course. But I didn't. I fell in love with you!”

“You really love to gossip, don't you?” he asked, wishing she had brought him a glass of wine.“Yes, I suppose I do,” she answered, sounding surprised at the realization. “You think that's why I love reading novels so much?”

“I didn't ask you if you loved him. I asked you if you liked him. Love is important but like is the more important. If you don't like him, all the love in the world can't make you have a good relationship.”

“All the time I think I can never love you more than I already do. And then you do something or say something, and I love you more than ever. Like just now. Like now. How is it possible? Can you love someone more and more and at the same time, all the time, love them as much as it's possible to love someone?”

“That's why you love me." "I do not love you. I don't even like you." "You will," he said, his voice low and luscious.”

“I know about love. I know about wanting and dreaming and wishing with every piece of your soul. I know enough to recognize the parts that are real and the parts that are only fantasy.' ... 'Like when she cries and my heart tears into little shreds and all I can think about is making her forget the source of her saddness.' ... 'Thats real.' ... 'And fantisy?' 'Believing she might ever feel the same way.' ... 'Why didn't you tell her? The girl you love. Why didn't you tell her how you feel?' ... 'Because,' ... 'she doesn't want to know.”