“I’m not sure if I can write a love poem while it’s still just a prospect pirouetting on the horizon, but when I do find that love, like a five dollar bill resurfacing from folds of denim, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Can you break my five-dollar bill into five singles? Women love guys with lots of money.”

“When I’m with you," he began again, "it’s like… I still don’t feel normal. But I can see normal at twelve o’clock on the horizon." He pointed past me, through the windshield of an imaginary airplane. "At least I know normal is still out there. I’ve spent the last three months not sure of that at all.”

“She tucked a five-dollar bill into my dress strap—like I was a stripper!”

“I’m scared of him. I’m disgusted by the vile monster he becomes, this beast he lets out. But I still love him. I’d still do anything for him. I can’t just turn off my heart. I want to, I do, but I can’t. I love him with everything I have and I hate myself for it. Because it’s wrong to love him, I know. It’s so wrong.”

“It is the most fun I’m ever going to have. I love to write. I love it. I mean, there’s nothing in the world I like better, and that includes sex, probably because I’m so very bad at it. It’s the greatest peace when I’m in a scene, and it’s just me and the character, that’s it, that’s where I want to live my life.”