“What's it about? she asked.It's about love.She laughed. They're all about love.”

“They're all about love.”

“So she had to satisfy herself with the idea of love – loving the loving of things whose existence she didn’t care at all about. Love itself became the object of her love. She loved herself in love, she loved loving love, as love loves loving, and was able, in that way, to reconcile herself with a world that fell so short of what she would have hoped for. It was not the world that was the great and saving lie, but her willingness to make beautiful and fair, to live a once-removed life, in a world once-removed from the one in which everyone else seemed to exist.”

“I didn't want to hear about death. It was all anyone talked about, even when no one was actually talking about it.”

“What we forget about animals we begin to forget about ourselves.”

“He shrugged his shoulders, like he had no idea what I was talking about. I loved that.”

“What's so horrible about being dead forever, and not feeling anything, and not even dreaming? What's so great about feeling and dreaming?”