The memories seem like snapshots from someone else’s life.

We wanted the freedom to love. We wanted the freedom to choose. Now we have to fight for it.

It's an incredible thing, how you can feel so taken care of by someone and yet feel, also, like you would die or do anything just for the chance to protect him back.

I used to think that's what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.

The secret is,” I say, whispering right into his ear, “that yours was the best kiss I’ve ever had in my life.” “But I’ve never kissed you,” he whispers back. Around us the rain sounds like falling glass. “Not since third grade, anyway.” I smile, but I’m not sure if he can see it. “Better get started, then,” I say, “because I don’t have much time.

I want to know." His words are a whisper, barely audible. "I want to know with you.

That's what Zombieland is: frozen, calm, quiet.