We are not created equal in talent. But the place where we are least equal is the heart. You can work at a talent, take lessons, but love, love either works or it doesn't. You love someone or you don't. You can't change it. You can't undo it.

Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed.

All men love to talk about themselves, even the ones who are completely buggers.

It feels like we're in a Harry Potter book talking about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

It was an hour before dawn. When all the Whos down in Whoville were asnooze in their beds without care. Sorry, wrong book. If I get to stay awake until dawn, I get just a tad slaphappy.

Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you and know, absolutely know, that the sound in the dark is a monster, and it really is as bad as you think. Did that sound hopeless? It didn't feel hopeless. It felt reassuring. It felt - real.

What does it mean when the monsters are so afraid of you that you make them cry? That maybe monster depends on which end of the gun your on, or that I was just that good at my job.