“I wondered if she'd ever written on her notebook: GEB + NUT = TRUE LOVE or MRS GEB.”

“She'd rather hoped for something simple, like a lined piece of notebook paper with MY EVIL PLAN written across the top, but no luck.”

“Not that she didn't love almost every boy she'd ever met, and not that every boy in the world didn't totally love her. It was impossible not to. But she wanted someone to love her and shower her with attention the way only a boy who was completely in love with her could. The rare sort of love. True love. The kind of love she'd never had.”

“The happiest she'd ever been was with him, and the saddest. Was that the true test of love?”

“You have what she needs," he said again. "And you're capable of giving her more than she'd ever bargained for because you love her. Wether she wants it or not, it's your gift to her. True love requires no reciprocation. True love is unconditional.”

“She drinks pints of coffee and writes little observations and ideas for stories with her best fountain pen on the linen-white pages of expensive notebooks. Sometimes, when it's going badly, she wonders if what she believes to be a love of the written word is really just a fetish for stationery.”