You're wearing at least four different kinds of sweater." "This is a scarf." "You look tarred and sweatered.

Are you on drugs?" "No." "Maybe you should be.

Everybody drinks," she said calmly. The Only Rational One. "Your sister doesn't." When rolled her eyes. "Forgive me, but I'm not going to spend my college years sitting soberly in my dorm room, writing about gay magicians." "Objection," Cath said, reaching for a burrito.

I'm the Cool One," she told herself. "Somebody give me some tequila because I'll totally drink it. And there's no way you're going to find me later having a panic attack in your parents' bathroom. Who wants to French-kiss?

It's our last chance. No. No, I can't... I, no, I need to believe that it isn't our last chance... Eleanor? Can you hear me? I need you to believe it, too.

I didn't know love could leave the lights on all the time.

So why aren’t you living with your sister?” “She wanted to meet new people,” Cath said. “You make it sound like she broke up with you.