I have no plans to love you," said Coraline. "No matter what. You can't make me love you.
When you dream, sometimes you remember. When you wake, you always forget.
It is your differences that make you glorious.
This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof.
Every hour wounds. The last one kills.
What would be the fun in doing things you know are going to work?