"You did! Look at us. Talking. Wouldn’t it be amazing if we could always talk? Even when you’re inside the box?" "You know I’m not constructed that way. I exist across all space and time, and you talk and run around and bring home strays."
"How about you? Is your life proving satisfactory, apart from the Great Matter, of course?" “Women like me don’t have a life. We choose clothes and pay calls and work for charity and do the season, but really, we’re stuck in a waiting room until we marry.”
The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones that never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”