“She wonders what curse this is, to swing from life to life, grief to grief, with no control.”

“Shit. I feel like I’m whispering all of this when I should really be shouting.”

“‘This land isn’t empty, it’s full of ghosts, you just can’t see them.' She says it flat, matter of fact, no judgement at all.”

“If ever a saint could be described as not giving any fucks, it would be her.”

“Can you see the brushstrokes? Do you want to touch them? Do you want to lick the paint?”

“Always, I am naked with you…”

Everyone thinks they know what love is, but most have no clue. Reading hooks' works on love, you’ll likely discover, for the most part, that nobody loves you. Not your family, not your friends, not your “lover.” You also might discover that you don’t love anyone either.

"Friendship affords certitude above all, and that is what distinguishes it from love."

“I could not comprehend how love for someone other than me could be called love for me. Love sees only the beloved, I believed. Two faces turned toward each other alone.”