“She makes me love her and I like people who make me love them. It saves me so much trouble making myself love them”

“I don't know that she is as amusing as she was when she was a child, but she makes me love her and I like people who make me love them. It saves me so much trouble in making myself love them.”

“It feels like nobody in the history of the world has loved another person as much as I love you. I love you so much it hurts. You make me smile, you make me laugh, you make me burn.”

“Was that pity? I think it was. No wonder, I even pity myself. Will the pity make her love me? Make her take me home with her and look after me like the plant? Fucking bastard smug plant.”

“I love who you are. Because you accept me for who I am. You make me laugh, sometimes even at myself. And you make me happy.”

“I'm in love with her,” I announced at double speed, hoping that saying it quickly might lessen the weight of its impact. He looked at me with doom in his eyes and goes, “Jesus Christ, Paul.” I said, “I mean it. Like deep crazy soul love.” Michael almost choked. “Deep WHAT?” I laid it all out for him: Eliza believes in me, she moves me, and she's moved BY me. She makes me happy, she makes me sad, she makes me try harder, she makes me laugh, and she makes me feel like I can fly. Isn't that the goddamn definition of love?”