— Especially when I'm in love with a psycho like you.
— I am not a psycho.
— I just told you that I loved you, and all you heard was "psycho."
— Didn't you have a blast on the phone?
— I did.
— Is that all?
— I had a fucking blast.
Look, I can’t help it if she’s got her knickers in a twist. What Lav and I have — well, let’s just say there was no stopping it. It’s
chemical. Will it last? Who knows? Point is, I’m a free agent.
Love is simply an electrical bug in the human neural circuit.
— Don't they make a handsome couple?
— He's a man; she's a woman: perfect match.
Love — a temporary insanity curable by marriage or by removal of the patient from the influences under which he incurred the disorder. This disease, like caries and many other ailments, is prevalent only among civilized races living under artificial conditions; barbarous nations breathing pure air and eating simple food enjoy immunity from its ravages. It is sometimes fatal, but more frequently to the physician than to the patient.