“When you’re in love, it’s not just about the messing around in the sack, it’s about how empty you feel when they’re gone.”

“Life is about moving, it’s about change. And when things stop doing that they’re dead.”

“Parisians are always in a big hurry, but are especially frantic if they’re behind you. They’re desperate to be where they rightfully feel they belong: in front of you. It’s a whole other story when you’re behind them, especially when it’s their turn: suddenly they seem to have all the time in the world.”

“Why not? Love isn’t about perfection or beauty. It’s not about how good you look in a bikini, or how perfect your skin is. Love is about…about…” He fumbled for words. “About needing that certain someone in your life—that someone who makes you feel whole. It’s helping the person you love when they need a hand to stand straight. Love is never giving up on the person you care about.”

“I know just how he feels that it’s come to this. Sometimes, love isn’t enough, even when it’s all you have.”

“When you’re young, sex doesn’t mean as much, it isn’t sacred. Children make the best prostitutes because they’re th emost perfunctory about the whole encounter. The whole act is like a dare, like kissing a frog or something. It’s nasty while it’s happening, but you forget about it soon afterward. And sometimes it isn’t even that nasty. Whatever it is, it’s so far from love.”