Real life is only ever just real life. Messy. What it means depends on how you look at it. The only thing you’ve got to do is find a way to live there.

We all fall but that's not what matters. What matters is picking yourself up again.

You said we all want there to be more than this! Well, there's always more than this. There's always something you don't know.

I don't know how much time passes with us just lying there, just feeling that the other is really there, really true, really alive, feeling the safety of him, his weight against mine, the roughness of his fingers touching my face, his warmth and his smell and the dustiness of his clothes, and we barely speak.

It is a true story, the monster said. Many things that are true feel like a cheat.

I'll find you- Keep calling for me, Viola- Cuz here I come.

Why can't we learn to live with how we are? And whatever anybody chooses is okay by the rest of us?