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"What is a ghost? Something dead that seems to be alive. Something dead that doesn’t know it’s dead."

"Alongside him live people with such fragile hearts that love becomes a sickness; they are starving for affection and yet are ashamed to show it."

"They are not always quite sure of what they are doing here. They spend many sleepless nights, believing that their lives have no meaning."

"Don't make me hate you. Loving you is hard enough."

"Your daughter’s face is a small riot, her hands are a civil war, a refugee camp behind each ear, a body littered with ugly things.

But God, doesn’t she wear the world well?"

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"Oh fuck it... I have a horrible feeling that I am a greedy, perverted, selfish, apathetic, cynical, deranged, morally bankrupt woman who can't even call herself a feminist."

"You’re obsessive about inconsequential things, like song lyrics, and dismissive of things that matter, like food and sleep and other people’s feelings. Who can live like that?"

"Actually, it was only part of myself I wanted to kill: the part that wanted to kill herself, that dragged me into the suicide debate and made every window, kitchen implement, and subway station a rehearsal for tragedy."

"But what inspires this particular compliment, this feeling of not just loving a song, or any work of art, but longing to have created it yourself?"

"Hate that was so bright and hot that it was the first thing that truly warmed him. Hate that felt so good that he welcomed being consumed by it."

"Since the hour of Cardan’s birth, he has been alternately adored and despised. Perhaps it’s no surprise that he turned out the way he did."