No matter how lonely it makes me, and no matter how wide and horrific the loneliness, at least I remember who I am.

Maybe it is desperation. Maybe we can't let things fall apart without trying. We can't let go of the people we love.

Vaughn is talking about the heat, and his voice is so excited that it breaks into whispers at times. He loves his madness the way a bird loves the sky.

The world seems so clean if you only looked up.

It isn’t a perfect place. There are no perfect places. But nobody cares about perfection when there are sand castles to build and kites to chase, children that are being born, old hearts that are giving in.

Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.

I'll tell you something about true love. There's no science to it. It's as natural as the sky.