Love is bullshit. Emotion is bullshit.
Don’t ask me when because I don’t remember, but somewhere along the way I keep forgetting to commit suicide.
Some stories, you use up. Others use you up.
At first, the new owner pretends he never looked at the living room floor.
If people thought you were dying, they gave you their full attention.
Almost all the time, you tell yourself you're loving somebody when you're just using them. This only looks like love.