It's strange. You never start out life with the intention of becoming a bankrupt or an alcoholic or a cheat and a thief. Or a liar.

All this, all of this love we're talking about, it would just be a memory. Maybe not even a memory. Am I wrong? Am I way off base? Because I want you to set me straight if you think I'm wrong. I want to know. I mean, I don't know anything, and I'm the first one to admit it.

I could hear my heart beating. I could hear everyone's heart. I could hear the human noise we sat there making, not one of us moving, not even when the room went dark.

This is awful. I don't know what's going to happen to me or to anyone else in the world.

Writers will be judged by what they write.

I am too nervous to eat pie.

It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we're talking about when we talk about love.