A strange, terrific force unlike anything I've ever experienced is sprouting in my heart, taking root there, growing. Shut up behind my rib cage, my warm heart expands and contracts independent of my will--over and over.

I'm not human. I'm a piece of machinery. I don't need to feel a thing. Just forge on ahead.

Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.

Love can rebuild the world, they say, so everything's possible when it comes to love.

The faintest gleam of their lost memories glimmered for the briefest moment in their hearts.

Most of the psychological differences between men and women seem to come from differences in their reproductive system

Even if we could turn back, we'd probably never end up where we started.