Everyone just wasting time because they have so much of it to waste, minutes slipping by on who's with who and did you hear.

Hope keeps you alive.

A good friend keeps your secrets for you. A best friend helps you keep your own secrets.

I guess that's what saying good-bye is always like--like jumping off an edge. The worst part is making the choice to do it. Once you're in the air, there's nothing you can do but let go.

I shiver, thinking how easy it is to be totally wrong about people-to see one tiny part of them and confuse it for the whole, to see the cause and think it's the effect or vice versa

Things change after you die, though, I guess because dying is the loneliest thing you can do.

How is it possible, I think, to change so much and not be able to change anything at all?

This is what happens when you try to help people. You get screwed.

Lindsay calls them the Pugs: pretty from far away, ugly up close.

Everything in me feels fluttering and free, like I could take off from the ground at any second. Music, I think, he makes me feel like music.

And then, just at that moment, when I'm no longer sure if I'm dreaming or awake or walking some valley in between where everything you wish for comes true, I feel the flutter of his lips on mine.

Then comes the insight that All is God. One still realizes that the world is as it was but it does not matter it does not affect one's faith.

I was often very, incredibly naughty, and if I didn't come home at tea time I used to be sent to bed without any dinner. But people used to bring me things: I was better fed in bed.

If you've got a partner that's supportive and you're doing something you enjoy it doesn't ever become a job or a burden. Its about community, new friendships, support mechanism.

Music can be so manipulating - especially in terms of horror. It's such an important part of building the tension.

Dennis Wise, Vinnie Jones and John Fashanu must be turning in their graves

That's just not right," Sam muttered. "Claude needs to keep his pants on.

In the age of information, ignorance is a choice.

... romance is unsatisfactory as a religion. It is no use looking for the infinite in the eyes of another.

The Bostonians take their learning too sadly: culture with them is an accomplishment rather than an atmosphere; their "Hub," as they call it, is the paradise of prigs.

It seems like the first law of Nature is that everybody likes to receive things, but nobody likes to feel grateful.