It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you. I can't even make the comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph. It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of is and is no longer.

There is no word for the recipient of the love. There is only a word for the giver. There is the assumption that lovers come in pairs.

Feeling someone else's anger is bad; being left alone is worse.

When Dawn looked at Vic, she saw Vic exactly as he wanted to be seen. Whereas Vic's parents couldn't help seeing who he used to be, and so many friends and strangers couldn't help seeing who he didn't want to be anymore, Dawn only saw him. Call it a blur if you want, but Dawn didn't see a blur. She saw a very distinct, very clear person.

Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.

Putting up with the fear of being with the wrong person because you can't deal with the fear of being alone.

We are so used to releasing words. We don't know what to do with them if they stay.