Trust. That was what this was all about. If you can't trust the one you love, you don't have anything.

Cut the ending. Revise the script. The man of her dreams is a girl.

This is my vision-what I imagine I'll pass through on my way to the light. The blue sky, the clouds, the rays of light.

...the man of my dreams is a girl.

Really? It seems too good to be true. I don't trust it. I don't trust anyone.

Your failures and your faults, they stick with you. They glob into ugly, cancerous growths inside you and make you want to die.

Me? I had no dreams. No longings. Dreams only set you up for disappointment. Plus, you had to have a life to have dreams of a better life.

No one ever found out what was happening inside me. How the pain was eating me away. No one ever came to my rescue, or stood up for me.

What's the point of living if you don't belong anywhere?

What you see, isn't always what you get

Is that all I am? A friend?" "Of course not," I say. "I love you." "Am I the only one?" she asks. "Yes. Completely." First, last, and always.

You are your greatest asset in the business of your life.

I admire Eudora Welty. 'Delta Wedding' is a book I've given as a present to numerous women. Eudora Welty rocks. She writes such jewel-like, fine, refined short stories.

I have a theory that the secret of marital happiness is simple: drink in different pubs to your other half.

The greatest horrors of our world are committed by people who are totally sincere.

I did things like Shampoo and Heaven Can Wait. I don't know what those films were about. The women I played in them were not very empowered.

I decided to take God and organized religion seriously, and to reject the secular life which in my teens had looked attractive because it allowed me to act in any way that I wanted.

I'm sorry. I shouldn't be asking such things...' She let the sentence die its own death

Although the universe is under no obligation to make sense, students in pursuit of a Ph. D. are.

Thy goal, the road thou choosest are thy fate.

I prefer the monotony of obscure sacrifice to all ecstasies. To pick up a pin for love can convert a soul.