Love isn’t a series of slogans like “Just do it,” “It’s the real thing,” or “Go ahead, stick it in my butt.” Love is much more than that. Love is also a logo. I know, because I have it tattooed on my ass.
When I was in the second grade, I used to think love was the feeling a man gets while riding a motorcycle and having a woman embrace him tightly from behind. Maybe I’m cynical now, but I’m starting to think love is a unicycle with a flat tire.
A car’s gas tank should be see-through, so I don’t have to rely on a possibly faulty gauge to tell me it’s approaching empty. The human heart should also be see-through, so I can tell if you’ve really given me all your love.
You never forget how to ride a bicycle—or the first time you made love on one. I’ve made love on a bicycle twice, to two women—both times were with both women. Foreplay is amazingly difficult with four lanes of traffic honking at you.
I have 26 silly faces, each represents a different letter of the alphabet. So while you think I am grimacing over what you are talking about, I am really spelling out I love you.
Every age has its book.
Age is a sorry travelling companion.
If youth knew; if age could.
Every age wants its playthings.
Age is honorable and youth is noble.
A lazy youth, a lousy age.
Old age is the verdict of life.
I had to work from a young age.
I was neurotic and weird from an early age.
This is an age of specialization, and in such an age the repertory theater is an anachronism, a ludicrous anachronism.
I'm not always in that good with middle-aged heterosexual men.
Nemo age 16: How did you know my name? Elise age 15: We go to the same school. You never notice me, you never notice anyone. Do you have a girlfriend? What, are you queer? Why don't you have a girlfriend? Nemo age 16: I don't know... I don't want one...
Maybe I'll be a feminist in my old age.
Minds ripen at very different ages.
Natasha Romanoff: We have no place in the world...
It is old age, rather than death, that is to be contrasted with life. Old age is life's parody, whereas death transforms life into a destiny: in a way it preserves it by giving it the absolute dimension. Death does away with time.
