“... see how everything now is precious, how someday I'll know I was lucky to be here.”

“And then I notice the music flooding out of every part of the apartment at once — the couch, the walls, even the floor — and I know Bennies alone in Lou’s studio, pouring music down around us. A minute ago it was “Don’t Let Me Down”. Then it was Blondie’s “Heart of Glass”. Now it’s Iggy Pop’s “The Passenger”. Listening, I think, You will never know how much I understand you.”

“When does a fake Mohawk become a real Mohawk? Who decides? How do you know if it's happened?”

“She'd risked everything, and here was the result: the raw, warped core of her life.”

“We stand there, quiet. My questions all seem wrong: How did you get so old? Was it all at once, in a day, or did you peter out bit by bit? When did you stop having parties? Did everyone else get old too, or was it just you? Are other people still here, hiding in the palm trees or holding their breath underwater? When did you last swim your laps? Do your bones hurt? Did you know this was coming and hide that you knew, or did it ambush you from behind?”

“That's how New York looked: like a gorgeous, easy thing to have, even for me.”

“Redemption, transformation--God how she wanted these things. Every day, every minute. Didn't everyone?”