“I’m always intrigued by my nonsensical concern with picking out a bunch of things that look exactly alike the ones that somehow I feel are the best and belong to me. It’s that same crazy urge or superstition, or whatever it is, that makes me open a Bible in a hotel room, hoping for some great happenstance spiritual word of advice. More often than not, I hit a long passage of begats and begots, which contain little inspiration other than the fact that procreation is the highest aim of life.”

“Going public was a difficult decision, and I had misgivings. My subjective experience was now an objective fact in the wider world. It didn't belong to just me anymore - though I quickly learned that it hadn't belonged to just me in the first place. More than a million Americans and their families were going through the same thing; some openly, some in secret due to concerns of being misunderstood and marginalized.”

“It’s killing me, baby,” he says, his voice much more calm and quiet. “It’s killing me because I don’t want you to go another day without knowing how I feel about you. And I’m not ready to tell you I’m in love with you, because I’m not. Not yet. But whatever this is I’m feeling—it’s so much more than just like. It’s so much more. And for the past few weeks I’ve been trying to figure it out. I’ve been trying to figure out why there isn’t some other word to describe it. I want to tell you exactly how I feel but there isn’t a single goddamned word in the entire dictionary that can describe this point between liking you and loving you, but I need that word. I need it because I need you to hear me say it.”

“Listen, I’m going to give you some advice, not because Ithink you need it, but because I feel like I’ve earned it. The right, I mean. To give advice. Here it is:don’t hold onto things. It’s a problem the men in my family have. It’s taken me a long time to figurethis out. Me, my father, my grandfather, we collect things. We collect miseries. It’s what we do. Butsometimes the best thing to do is to just let things go. To let them pass.”

“Here we are, I thought, a bunch of grown-up kids locked in an empty room playing naive games with each other. No one understands anybody else. We are wandering around in dark caves, holding our little private candles, hoping for some great illumination. I don't like to think I'm as confused or simple-minded as the others, but if I really am more complex, more experienced than they are, why should I want them to understand me?”

“The danger of delusion was made worse, by the love of delusion. What's best for me and what is worst for me, the thing I most ought to do and the thing I most ought not to do, look very much alike. In my heart of hearts I may know which is which - but then a spirit of perversity makes me want to choose wrongly. Great psychic perturbation always surrounds great beauty”