Some minds are made of blotting-paper: you can write nothing on them distinctly. They swallow the ink, and you find a large spot. – Augustus William Hare and Julius Charles Hare, Guesses at Truth, by Two Brothers
Romantic love is mental illness. But its a pleasurable one. Its a drug. It distorts reality, and thats the point of it. It would be impossible to fall in love with someone that you really saw. – Fran Lebowitz