Amor deliria nervosa isn't a disease of love. It's a disease of selfishness.

You have to go forward: It's the only way. You have to go forward no matter what happens. This is the universal law.

Love: a single word, a wispy thing, a word no bigger or longer than an edge. That's what it is: an edge; a razor. It draws up through the center of your life, cutting everything in two. Before and after. The rest of the world falls away on either side.

The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.

Now I'd rather be infected with love for the tiniest sliver of a second than live a hundred years smothered by a lie.

Time jumps. It leaps. It pours away like water through fingers.

In a world without love, this is what people are to each other: values, benefits, and liabilities, numbers and data. We weigh, we quantify, we measure, and the soul is ground to dust.