“Can you believe him? I think the boy has lost his goddamn mind. Who the fuck plays tug with a crocodile?”

“You like him because he's a lost boy. Believe me, I've seen it happen before. But do you know what happens to girls who love lost boys? They become lost themselves. Without fail.”

“The character I’m playing in the film is this driven, workaholic lawyer who has never lost a case. When I’m playing him . . .” He paused, his voice softening. Somehow they were now standing just inches apart. “I think of you.” When their eyes met, Jason grinned and added, “With a penis.”

“I can finally fucking breathe seeing you goddamn bastards.”

“I don’t believe in guilty pleasures. If you fucking like something, like it. That’s what’s wrong with our generation: that residual punk rock guilt, like, “You’re not supposed to like that. That’s not fucking cool.” Don’t fucking think it’s not cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic.” It is cool to like Britney Spears’ “Toxic”! Why the fuck not? Fuck you! That’s who I am, goddamn it! That whole guilty pleasure thing is full of fucking shit.”

“Do you really think you can read out my mind?" she asks me, face to face."I think so," I say, wishing to convince myself. "There has to be a way.""It is like looking for lost drops of rain in a river.""You're wrong. The mind is not like raindrops. It does not lose itself among other things. If you believe in me at all, than believe this: I promise you I will find it. Everything depends on this.""I believe you," she whispers after a moment. "Please find my mind.”