Somewhere in the endless spinning of eternity that one, tiny, fraction of a second where our lips met is lost forever.

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

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

What glitters may not be gold; and even wolves may smile; and fools will be led by promises to their deaths.

"Everyone is asleep. They've all been asleep for years. You seemed... awake." Alex is whispering now. He closes his eyes, opens them again. "I'm tired of sleeping."

I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.

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