“Born to love you, baby,” he repeated. “Die lovin’ you, my Sylvie.”

“Then and now, beautiful, I’ll take you any way you come to me … Any way. I love this Sylvie, I loved that Sylvie. I just love you, baby.”

“We make a baby, Sylvie, we do it making love. Not fucking on the kitchen floor.”

“I get to live forever," he repeated. Luce was still lost, but he kept talking, a stream of words pouring out of his mouth. "I get to live, and to watch babies being born, and grow up, and fall in love. I watch them have babies of their own and grow old. I watch them die. I am condemned, Luce, to watch it all over again and again. Everyone but you." His eyes were glassy. His voice dropped to a whisper. "You don't get to fall in love--""But...," she whispered back. "I've...fallen in love.”

“Love, my child, is a thing that every mother learns; it is not born with a baby, but made; and for eleven years, I have learned to love you as my son.”

“just remember: i love you, and love yourselves. 'cause, little monsters, you were born that way baby.”