She wanted to lose herself in him. To tie his arms around her like a tourniquet.If she showed him how much she needed him, he'd run away.

The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt.

Holding Eleanor's hand was like holding a butterfly. Or a heartbeat. Like holding something complete, and completely alive.

It was the nicest thing she could imagine. It made her want to have his babies and give him both of her kidneys.

My girlfriend is sad and quiet and keeps me up all night worrying about her.

Don't bite his face, Eleanor told herself. It's disturbing and needy and never happens in situation comedies or movies that end with big kisses.

Everytime, he breaks your heart. And everytime, he expects me to pick up the pieces.

Can't you just like a girl who likes you back?''None of them likes me back. I may as well like the one I really want.

If you can’t save your own life, is it even worth saving?

There's no reason to think we're going to stop loving each other, ' he said. 'And there's every reason to think that we won't.

I'm ending this.''No. Come on. It's not worth it.''You are, ' he said fiercely, looking at her.'You're worth it.

People with OCD including myself, realize that their seemingly uncontrollable behavior is irrational, but they feel unable to stop it.

If it judges your conscience, then you are in some way guilty of it by action, words or omission.

...I know Shakespeare said art is holding up a mirror to nature- but you're actually bending and refracting it through your interior dialogue ...

I did my work slowly, drop by drop. I tore it out of me by pieces.

Logic will get you from A to B. Imagination will take you everywhere.

Just in case God isn't dead, our astronauts carry sidearms.

A formal and orderly conception of the whole is rarely present, perhaps even rarely possible, except to a few men of exceptional genius.

As an artist, you're always somewhat obscure. We're not talking Hollywood.

A good title is a work of a genius!

He was justifying his existence, than which life can do no greater; for life achieves its summit when it does to the uttermost that which it was equipped to do.