“Love didn't run on logic. It didn't follow neat lines or a list of priorities.”

“Principles and logic didn't give birth to reality. Reality came first, and the principles and logic followed.”

“Love didn't ask permission. It wasn't sensible or logical. It did as it wished, and damn the consequences”

“I was neat, clean, shaved and sober and I didn't care who knew it.”

“Love didn't work that way, I decided. Once you cared about a person, it was impossible to be logical about them anymore.”

“The revelation that there was nothing "special" about humanity didn't shock her. Not specifically. She'd always been cynical about that sort of thing. The idea that reality was all too big to even quantify in any meaningful way didn't disturb her much either. Except, deep down, she'd assumed there was some inherent logic at work. Like ricocheting molecules congealing into planets and stars, dogs and cats. At least the made sense, even if it wasn't very comforting. At least it put things in neat little boxes with neat little labels that she didn't always understand but could rely on in terms of familiarity.”