“Nobody can keep on being angry if she looks into the heart of a pansy for a little while.”

“She waited for the train to pass. Then she said, "I sometimes think that people’s hearts are like deep wells. Nobody knows what’s at the bottom. All you can do is imagine by what comes floating to the surface every once in a while.”

“Laurel, I hope you find something like this, a little self-destructive habit you can turn to every once in a while, when you’re tired of being good. It will keep you sane.”

“I'm angry at the lies that hide behind my eyesBut untangling them scares me, so I keep them alive.I'm angry at the chip in my tooth and the crick in my back,And the fact that it's too late to change my track.I'm angry that my heart beat is a stutter and my mouth follows suit And that the rain seeps in through the holes in my bootsI'm angry that not one of you will know what I meanEven if I break it into syllables and put it on a screenI'm angry that the world keeps its answers under lock and keyIf it's revealing them to anyone, it sure isn't meI'm angry that there's more of us on Earth than there has been beforeAnd though it's doubtful we can take it, people still want moreI'm angry at the idleness that you call industryCall it caution, call it planning, but it looks like lethargy I'm angry that my friends are strangers, even after we meetAs though we know we'll never ever see the other one's streetI'm angry that we hide behind the media-sphereThough all of us are present, there is nobody hereI'm angry that the world demands I stay on the ballI'm angry that I'm not angry-- at all.”

“I don't reveal to her that I love her. I keep poker faced. She might as well be looking at a cantaloupe, there is so little information in my face, but my heart is beating.”

“So she made no secret about being gay?""Why should she?" the little old lady asked. "Nobody would care but a bunch of stuffy old men.”