Are you fucking kidding me, you lying thieving hairy-legged beast?

Amy is a Sharpie; she's passionate.

. . . a nightmarish thing that frightens Love, haunting her, weighing her down, the thing that she's supposed to love, the way the world initially instructs children to love clowns even though we all know deep down that they're creepy, old, puffy men in masks leering at children.

…that men always let you down, that they bail on you because men do fucking suck. But so does Love, Mary Kay. So does love.

Dear Beck, It's not your fault you were born on an island. Of course you identify as an island. But, dear girl, you're not an island. Be populated. Be welcoming to love. Love, Beck.

You're lucky to get your heart broke. That just means you have a heart.

I need help--Hey Siri, how do you kill love?--but who am I kidding? She doesn't know. No one knows. I have to figure it out myself, alone...

Some good shit happens fast (a bestselling book), and some good shit happens slow (love).

Love is hands, holding you.