“How many ways can I say “I love you”? I could say it in another language, like French. I could say it through action, like a kiss. Or I could say it indirectly, like telling your best friend, April. Yes, I think I’m ready to tell April I love her.”

“I stared at him in silence. There were so many things I wanted to say. Like, How could you think what I feel for you is only physical? or, Don't you know you're my best friend? and finally, Bones, I love-”

“Not that I did, bang her that is. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, how could I ever be sure about something like that?”

“Yes, I know," "And I love to hear you say it, Louis. I need to hear you say it. I don't think anyone will ever say it quite like you do. Come on, say it again. I'm a perfect devil. Tell me how bad I am. It makes me feel so good!”

“I do not have any other way of saying it. I think it happens but once and only to the very young when it feels like your skin could ignite at the mere touch of another person. You get to love like that but once.”

“You make me love books and the words inside them, because they talk about you. I know they do, they tell me that I love you, not as cliché as I write it, but in the warmest, deepest, calmest words I could ever read. I love you, like the books say it. And I'll find a better way to say it one day.”