Sometimes,” he said after a second that lasted a million years, “things get broken. And they can’t be fixed.

Sometimes, you turn back. Sometimes, you walk away. And sometimes, you find the place you're meant to be, and you stay there. You find a way to make it work. Whatever it takes.

Does madness bring creativity? Or does creativity cause madness? Can an artist create without the ups so high and the downs so low?

He was quiet. I said nothing, hoping that maybe, for once, he'd stop pretenting he was okay. Then I could, too. That we could both forget the roles that had so long bound us.

If you want to know how someone really feels, you almost never have to ask.

They were all you, to me. All of them were you.

He hadn’t been her first lover or the first boy to give her an orgasm. He hadn’t even been the first she’d loved. He’d been the first to turn her inside out with something as simple as a smile. The first to make her doubt herself. He’d taken her deeper than anyone ever had, and yet she hadn’t drowned.