Even he believed the things he said. Some called him noble, some said yellow. What he was was off his head.

It’s called burn your bridges, start again. You should burn them every now and then or you’ll never grow!

The business with her mother would be hardly the business I'd worry about.

Best to take a moment present as a present for the moment.

I thought that you'd want what I want. Sorry, my dear.

There are mouths to be kissed before mouths to be fed.

No more feelings. Time to shut the door. Just—no more.

Tell me that you're hurt, tell me you're relieved, tell me that you're bored—anything, but don't assume I know. Tell me what you feel!

You think, “What do you want?” You think, “Make a decision!”

Thumb your nose at the blizzards and ice.

I guess I need you more than you need me, and yet I'm happy.

There is a flower which offers nectar at the top, delicious nectar at the top and bitter poison underneath. The butterfly that stays too long and drinks too deep is doomed to die.

So cool that I’m cold.

Wanting a ball is not wanting a prince.

So then which do you pick: where you’re safe, out of sight, and yourself, but where everything’s wrong? Or where everything’s right and you know that you’ll never belong?

Are you certain what you wish is what you want?

You take for granted some love will wear away. We took for granted a lot, but still I say: it could have kept on growing, instead of just kept on.

The sun comes up, I think about you.

Love is just sand, you can feel it shifting: soon as you stand, you begin to sink. Everything's planned, then it gets to drifting, never to where you think. Love ain't solid land, it's just sand.

Ah, but if you have no expectations, Captain, you can never have a disappointment.

If you are my dream come true, why do I feel unreal with you?

One who keeps tearing around, one who can't move.

What can you lose? Only the blues. Why keep concealing everything you're feeling? Say it to her—what can you lose?

This is more than just malice.

Every day a little sting in the heart and in the head. Every move and every breath, and you hardly feel a thing, brings a perfect little death.

How can you miss it? Isn't it clear? How can you let it slip out of gear? How did you ever get there from here?

Could it be? Yes, it could. Something's coming, something good, if I can wait.

Let the moment go. Don't forget it for a moment, though.

Perpetual anticipation's a delicate art: playing a role, aching to start, keeping control while falling apart.

Hush, love, hush. Think it through. Once it bubbles, then what's to do? Watch it close. Let it brew. Wait.