Everything you see is based on fact of a event thats already happen, Even light only travels so fast.

I try to tell a story the way someone would tell you a story in a bar, with the same kind of timing and pacing.

It's pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

We opened our hearts. Hear me, heal me, save me, believe me.

Masochism is a valuable job skill.

They assume she was once gorgeously beautiful. Because now she looks so—bad.

I'm giving you my life to prove to myself I can, I really can love somebody. Even when I'm not getting paid, I can give love and happiness and charm. You see, I can handle the baby food and the not talking and being homeless and invisible, but I have to know that I can love somebody. Completely and totally, permanently and without hope of reward, just as an act of will, I will love somebody.