“Can't you hear it?" you said. "When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.”

“When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.”

“You don’t have to say I love you to say I love you,” you said with a shrug. “All you have to do is say my name and I know.”“How?”When I looked down at you, I was struck by how much of myself I could see in the shape of your eyes, in the light of your smile. “Sa Cassidy,” you instructed.“Cassidy.”“Say…Ursula.”“Ursula,” I parroted.“Now….,” and you pointed to your own chest.“Willow.”“Can’t you hear it?” you said. ” When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it’s safe inside your mouth.”

“You give her all your french fries, even when she won't give you back onion rings,' Sophie says. 'And when you say her name it sounds different.'How?'Sophie thinks. 'Like it's covered with blankets.”

“Is it a crime when you love someone so much that you can't stand the thought of them changing? Is it a crime when you love someone so much that you can't see clearly?”

“There are two kinds of love...in the safe kind you look for someone who's exactly like you. It's what most folks settle for. But then there's the other kind of love. Everyone's born with a ragged edge, and some folks crave that piece that's a perfect fit. You'll search for it forever, if you have to. And if you're lucky enough to find it, it looks so right, you start to tear at your own seams, thinking, maybe I could look just as perfect. But then, of course, when you try to get close to their other half, you don't fit anymore. That kind of love...you come out of it a different person than you were when you started.”

“You can blame your ugliness for keeping people at bay, when in reality you're crippled by the thought of letting another person close enough to potentially scar you even more deeply. You can tell yourself that it's safer to love someone who will never really love you back, because you can't lose someone you never had.”