we’re too old to be young.

And [Benji] cheats on you, Beck. A lot. Compulsively. He is in intense pursuit of a performance artist who fucks with his head the way he fucks with yours.

Your lips were made for mine, Beck. You are the reason I have a mouth, a heart.

It's the little things that make you want to kill someone, the way Milo drinks Diet Dr Pepper and ties his Jewfro in a bun and lifts his shirt to show off his stomach and wipes his glasses down even though they're not dirty. Yes, Milo got glasses, and seafoam green Topsiders, and a navy blue Polo-style shirt with a popped collar, and didn't I already kill this guy when he was schilling Home Soda and fucking Guinevere Beck?

If Van Gogh were walking around, everyone would run away because he had no ear, but if he was holding his paintings they would be nice to him. She's holding her paintings and she's good at it.

Love is hands, holding you.

Everyone here wants so badly to be watched, noticed. And the upside is that the desire to be watched is a blindfold.

You are a monster, deathly, solipsistic to the bone and you’re blasphemous because all you want is You

The problem with books is that they end. They seduce you.[…]You turn the page and there is nothing.