Dreaming's the only way to get anywhere.
For a while, for as long as you're looking at it, that painting is the world and you get to be in it.
I like that about art, that what you see is sometimes more about who you are than what’s on the wall. I look at this painting and think about how everyone has some secret inside, something sleeping like that yellow bird.
It's harder to make someone laugh than it is to make them cry.
Every time he looked at me I felt like I'd touched my tongue to the tip of a battery. In art class I'd watch him lean back and listen and I was nothing but zing and tingle. After a while, the tingle turned to electricity, and when he asked me out my whole body amped to a level where technically I should have been dead. I had nothing in common with a sheddy like him, but a girl doesn't think straight when she's that close to electrocution.
I guess love's kind of like a marshmallow in a microwave on high. After it explodes it's still a marshmallow. but, you know, now it's a complicated marshmallow.
I like the idea of her bottles. Memories that are nothing but a strange shape floating inside of you, memories that are nothing but empty bottles. And the good stuff, glassed in so it can’t float away.