Marylou was watching Dean as she had watched him clear across the country and back, out of the corner of her eye--with a sullen, sad air, as though she wanted to cut off his head and hide it in her closet, an envious and rueful love of him so amazingly himself, all raging and sniffy and crazy-wayed, a smile of tender dotage but also sinister envy that frightened me about her, a love she knew would never bear fruit because when she looked at his hangjawed bony face with its male self-containment and absentmindedness she knew he was too mad.
Jack KerouacItโs not that I canโt fall in love. Itโs really that I canโt help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I canโt distinguish between whatโs platonic and what isnโt, because itโs all too much and not enough at the same time.
Jack Kerouac