Your cowardly self-delusions about “love” when you know as well as I do that there’s never been anything between us but contempt and distrust and a terrible sickly dependence on each other’s weakness- that’s why. That’s why I couldn’t stop laughing about the Inability to Love, and that’s why I can’t stand to let you touch me, and that’s why I’ll never again believe in anything you think, let alone anything you say

He couldn't even tell whether he was angry or contrite, whether it was forgiveness he wanted or the power to forgive.

She just happened to feel like it. Wasn’t that after all, the only reason there was? Had she ever had a less selfish, more complicated reason for doing anything in her life?

Warren Cox, God knew, was no prize; a commercial person, a sales person, the kind of man who said things like "x numbers of dollars". At lunch today, laboriously trying to explain some business procedure, he had said "x number of dollars" three times.

There's never been anything funny about a woman dying for love.

The hell with "love" anyway, and with every other phony, time-wasting, half-assed emotion in the world.

Do you know what the definition of insane is? Yes. It’s the inability to relate to another human being. It’s the inability to love.