Love you,” she repeats.
Someday, you do not know when, you will be driving down a road. And someday, you do not know when, he, or indeed she, will be there. You will be loved because for the first time in your life, you will truly not be alone. You will have chosen to not be alone.
I know that Marian Wallace was your girlfriend.” “That isn’t true.” “Don’t lie! I know that she came here to kill herself in your front yard. I know that she left Maya for you, but you either were too lazy or too much of a coward to claim her.
You had things you wanted to know. But she is so hung up on the morality of it that she’s useless.
The Fall of the House of Usher’ is a fair primer on what not to do with children.
It’s a fact, Maya. There are murdering kinds of pirates and researching kinds of pirates, and your daddy was the latter.
Ismay has aged like an actress should: from Juliet to Ophelia to Gertrude to Hecate.
It is the secret fear that we are unlovable that isolates us, but it is only because we are isolated that we think we are unlovable.
He was a good boyfriend to her as, in some universe elsewhere, he might have been to me.
What is a game?” Marx said. “It’s tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow. It’s the possibility of infinite rebirth, infinite redemption. The idea that if you keep playing, you could win. No loss is permanent, because nothing is permanent, ever.
But it is worth noting that to be good at something is not quite the same as loving it.
This is what time travel is. It’s looking at a person, and seeing them in the present and the past, concurrently. And that mode of transport only worked with those one had known a significant time.
If you’re always aiming for perfection, you won’t make anything at all.
There are no ghosts, but up here” – she gestured toward her head – “it’s a haunted house.
It isn’t a sadness, but a joy, that we don’t do the same things for the length of our lives.
There is a time for any fledgling artist where one’s taste exceeds one’s abilities. The only way to get through this period is to make things anyway.
He loved the intimacy of being in a tight group of people who had come together, miraculously, for a brief period in time, for the purpose of making art.
It was never worth worrying about someone you didn’t love. And it wasn’t love if you didn’t worry.
To Marx, it seemed foolish not to love as many things as you could.
Friendship,” Marx said, “is kind of like having a Tamagotchi.