Humankind can tolerate only so much rejection.
We talked filth for a pleasant half hour.
Sometimes limbo is a tolerable place to be stuck.
We never love anyone. Not really. We only love our idea of another person. It is some conception of our own that we love. We love ourselves, in fact.
She's half mad and three parts drunk.
Film is a medium of clear lines and broad strikes - which can be fantastic - but compared to the subtleties and nuances of a novel, it doesn't even get close.