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“You think the end justifies the means, however vile. I tell you: the end is the means by which you achieve it. Today's step is tomorrow's life. Great ends cannot be attained by base means. You've proved that in all your social upheavals. The meanness and inhumanity of the means make you mean and inhuman and make the end unattainable.”

“You think the final act of love is setting them free to Rainbow Bridge? That is not the final act of love. The final act of love is releasing them from your leash of grief so they can be free in the heaven on the other side of the Bridge. Until you resolve your grief, you bind them to you in the land between Heaven and Earth while they wait, suspended between the worlds, for you to heal. When you are free of your grief, they are free of your grief.”

“You think the things you can touch and feel are the things that are real, but they are not. Over time, they all get old and decline. The people, the houses, the rocks and the mountains: one day they will all crumble. This is because they are not as real as the things that last forever. It is another one of the lessons we come to teach.”

“You think the universe was always here? Douglass, everything has an origin. Maybe you're both right. Things don't get created out of nothing. Creations are made outta ingredients. Even ingredients are made out of ingredients. Think about it: Universes are made of galaxies are made of stars are made of gases are made of atoms are made of quarks are made of universes... for all we know. Cool. Maybe there's an infinite number of big bangs, each one creating a universe that forms a single quark...which interacts with other quarks to build a larger universe. And then that universe fits inside a singularity that explodes into another big bang becoming another quark. Makes sense, but... it had to start at some point, right? Why? We're all basically apes with language and clothes. Maybe we think there has to be a "start" 'cause human brains are just too primitive to comprehend infinity. "Creation" happens, but it's not a "start". It's a coming together of what always was to make what always will be. That's a lot like the "turtles all the way down".”

“You think there are no idiots in the intelligence business, that your superiors are all brilliant men who understand the game? [...] This business is rife with idiots. They play with lives and they play badly, and when people like you die as a result, they shrug and as 'Risks have to be taken in wartime.' You'd really march yourself into a firing squad for that kind of fool?”

“You think there's something materialistic about collecting books, but really collectors are the last romantics. We're the only ones who still love books as objects." "That's the question," said Jess. "How do you love them if you're always selling them?" "I don't sell everything," he said. "You haven't seen my own collection." "What do you have?" "First editions. Yeats, Dickinson- all three volumes; Eliot, Pound, Millay..." He had noticed the books she read in the store. "Plath. I also have Elizabeth Bishop." "I wish I could see them," Jess said. "You would have come to my house." "Are you inviting me?" She must have known this was a loaded question, but she asked without flirtatiousness or self-consciousness, as if to say, I only want to know as a point of information. Yes, he thought, I'm inviting you, but he did not say yes. He was her employer. She could act with a certain plucky independence, but he would always be the big bad wolf.”

“You think these recent events are everything. You think Aaron fell in love with your friend of several months, a rebel girl named Juliette. You don't know. You don't know. You don't know that Aaron has been in love with Ella for the better part of his entire life. They've known each other since childhood...…..The reason he had to keep wiping their memories was because it didn't matter how many times he reset the story or remade the introductions - Aaron always fell in love with her. Every time. - Delalieu”

“You think this is wrong. That you’re not allowed to like this,” I say as I lean back. “But you don’t have to hide your desires from me, Lucille. I’ll show you every filthy thing that is known to mankind, and I’ll watch your cunt dripping as it weeps for more. And then I’ll do it again and again. Until you push all those thoughts aside and accept your desires. What was it that Daisy Scott said?” I slip one finger inside of her pussy. “She wonders what it would feel like to experience passion. To meet someone who sees her. Who sees the real her. Someone who would never want to change her or try to take away her darkness,” I quote from her novel. “Don’t hide from me, mo chreach bheag.”

“You think to yourself, “If one drink feels really good and two feels really, really good, a hundred ought to feel fantastic.” As sane people know, it doesn't work that way. A hundred drinks feels terrible. Bad things happen. But the addict keeps at it, thinking at some point it's going to get good again The point is to not feel what you're feeling. The problem is, you become someone you never thought you would become, and you have no idea how you got there.”

“You think too much of your "toilette", Adele; but you may have a flower." I took a rose from a vase and fastened it in her sash. She sighed a sign of ineffable satisfaction, as if her cup of happiness were now full. I turned my face away to conceal a smile I could not suppress; there was something ludicrous as well as painful in the little Parisienne's earnest and innate devotion to matters of dress.”