“The idea was flawed, of course,” he said irritably. “Innately and
fatally flawed. It depended on two of the human race’s greatest myths:
the possibility of permanence, and the simplicity of human nature. Both
of which are all well and good in literature, but the purest fantasy
outside the covers of a book. Our story should have stopped that night
with the cold cocoa, the night we moved in: and they all lived happily
ever after, the end. Inconveniently, however, real life demanded that we
keep on living.”
Nick, I've heard that you don't remember getting that tattoo on your forearm. Was drinking not the reason you don't remember?
Nick: You’re talking about Dublin.
Ty: Oh, Dublin … Dublin made us her bitch.
Kelly: That was the night you got your gauntlet ink, right?
Nick: All evidence would suggest that, yes.
Owen: Wait wait, Nick can’t be blamed for that night, though.
Nick: I don’t remember that night. I don’t remember the day before or the day after either. I remember going to sleep in a hospital in Germany, and waking up at the fucking Ritz in New York City with a tattoo that covered my entire forearm. I was so fucking confused that people were speaking English to me.
Digger: You and me both should have still been in the hospital, bro.
Ty: The doctors released you into Kelly’s care. You were fine.
Digger: Yeah, well I’m the only brother in Louisiana with a Celtic knot on his ass.
Lonely. Adjective. 1. affected with, characterized by, or causing a depressing feeling of being alone; lonesome. 2. destitute of sympathetic or friendly companionship, intercourse, support. 3. lone; solitary; without company; companionless 4. remote from places of human habitation; desolate; unfrequented; bleak.