“How could I possibly keep my cool while getting sweaty with him? What if I screamed out something horrifying, like "I love you?" What if I had an epileptic attack and started drooling or spitting right in the middle of things?”

“Even if you find him. Even if he didn't leave you on purpose, he can't possibly live up to the person you've built him into."It's not like the thought hasn't occurred to me. I get that the chances of finding him are small, but the chances of finding him as I remember him are even smaller. But I just keep going back to what my dad always says, about how when you lose something, you have to visualize the last place you had it. And I found―and then lost―so many things in Paris.”

“Like most, I was a solitary boy at first, keeping to my books and weeping in the hedgerows whenever I could get away on my own. Surely, I thought, I must be the saddest child in the world; that there must be something innately horrid about me to cause my father to cast me off so heartlessly. I believed that if I could discover what it was, there might be a chance of putting things right, of somehow making it up to him.”

“I'm going out,” I said.I loved the way that sounded. It was just like what the heroes say in war movies right before they hurl themselves out of the plane. I felt like I should wink and say something like, “See you around, guys” and be really cool about it – but who was I kidding? I wasn't cool. I'd just sound like an idiot.”

“That's another reason I keep putting marriage off. I know I want something like what you two share, and I'm not sure I've found it yet. I'm not sure I ever will. And with love like that...they say anything's possible, right?”

“Cool. I was hanging out with a lunatic I'd found lurking over a dead person. I had a choice here. I could roll with this and somehow figure out how to get back to my real life, or I could freak out and lose it right here, probably be committed with him, and end up in a loony bin of truly epic Victorian ugliness, never to be seen again.”