“Is that love, do you think?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "Being crazy about someone no matter how much they hurt you?”

“It's crazy, right? To love someone who's hurt you? It's even crazier to think that someone who hurts you loves you.”

“Grown-ups love figures... When you tell them you've made a new friend they never ask you any questions about essential matters. They never say to you "What does his voice sound like? What games does he love best? Does he collect butterflies? " Instead they demand "How old is he? How much does he weigh? How much money does his father make? " Only from these figures do they think they have learned anything about him.”

“love is worth doing. No matter how much it hurts.”

“I love you," he whispered, and that was the moment he knew what he was going to do. When you loved someone, you put their needs before your own. No matter how inconceivable those needs were; no matter how fucked up; no matter how much it made you feel like you were ripping yourself into pieces.”

“And I think that's how I would describe love right now if someone asked me. You're so connected to someone else that the world and all its cliques and challenges and traumas and mysteries can't hurt you that much.”