“I mean, why are you trying so hard to impress me? I'm really sorry your mother died, but it doesn't mean much to me...”

“It doesn't mean that much to me to mean that much to you.”

“Danny smiles. Really smiles--like it means a lot that I'm not mad at him anymore. And then I figure out something weird: that you can be important to someone who doesn't mean much to you. But that once you find that out--that you mean something to them--it's hard not to feel that they mean something to you.”

“Doesn't your learning reveal to you that the reason why I please you and mean so much to you is because I am a kind of looking-glass for you, because there is something in me that answers you and understands you? Really, we ought all to be such looking-glasses to each other and answer and correspond to each other.”

“It isn't dying I'm afraid of, it isn't that at all; I know what it is to die, I've died already. It is the endless obliteration, the knowledge that there will never be anything else. That's what I can't stand, to try so hard and to end in nothing. You know what I mean, don't you? ... I really loved to write.”

“Juliette, please, tell me what I'm supposed to do. How am I supposed to feel? It's one shitty thing right after another and I'm trying to be okay--God, I'm trying so hard but it's really freaking difficult and I miss--I miss you, I miss you so much it's killing me.”