“My wish is that you may be loved to the point of madness.”— André Breton, What is Surrealism?: Selected Writings
“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn’t it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life…You give them a piece of you. They didn’t ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn’t your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like ‘maybe we should be just friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It’s a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.”— Neil Gaiman, The Sandman
“I am doing something I hate for you. This is what it means to be in love.”— Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated
“But if these years have taught me anything it is this: you can never run away. Not ever. The only way out is in.”— Junot Díaz, The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao
You are my mother and father.
You are my God.
You are my everything.
Ganapati, you belong to those who have no one else.
