It's the end of the Earth and the death of the universe that give me the insane courage to say that I am yours, if you want me.

Why is it, I thought, that we're so willing to hurt the ones we care about the most?

The magic had started to degrade, and Rosemary had slowly but surely become thoroughly, gruesomely human. And there were few things worse in this world than humans.

I was amazed at how quickly a person could become an essential part of your life.

If you didn't let people get close to you, they couldn't hurt you when they left.

Because it seems like a lot of hassle, liking someone. Your brain runs hot, the cogs inside your mind jarring together until all the oil of your thoughts is burned away. The fire spreads to your chest, where it chars your lungs and turns your heart to embers. And right when you think the flames have burned away everything but your skeleton, the spark skips from your bones to immolate not only your flesh, but your entire life.

We're all just chemical hearts. Does that make love any less brilliant? I don't think so.

after I hit puberty, it was like a switch inside me flipped, and instead of becoming a testosterone-driven sex monster like most of the guys in my school, I failed to find anyone I wanted in my life in that way.

They've poisoned you with this 'love is patient, love is kind' bullshit since you were a kid. But love is scientific, man. I mean, it's really just a chemical reaction in the brain. Sometimes that reaction lasts a lifetime, repeating itself over and over again. And sometimes it doesn't. Sometimes it goes supernova and then starts to fade. We're all just chemical hearts. Does that make love any less brilliant? I don't think so.