He wasn't mine anywhere except in my heart.

I wish you were a mind-reader. I want you to know everything but I don't want to have to tell you. Because there are some things I don't want to say out loud.

Alone-sex didn't count. It's like the difference between thinking to yourself or having a good conversation with someone--the pleasure is in the exchange.

I've never wanted to be loved. And God Knows no one's done it yet.

Heath," she whispered, "you're all I want. No one else ... no one . . .

Ghost?” St. Vincent shot him an incredulous glance. “Christ. You’re not serious, are you?” "I’m a Gypsy,” Cam replied matter-of-factly. “Of course I believe in ghosts.” “Only half Gypsy. Which led me to assume that the rest of you was at least marginally sane and rational.” “The other half is Irish,” Cam said a touch apologetically. “Christ,” St. Vincent said again, shaking his head as he strode away.

You have to rely on whatever sparks you have inside.