Graffiti Moon

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 liked that he had hair that was growing without a plan. A grin that came out of nowhere and left the same way.

You were right. Real is better. The truth is better. It makes you feel kind of stupid, but it's better.

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.

Remember Love doesn't make the world go round Sex makes it spin for a second or two If you're lucky So do chips, sausage rolls and girls in short skirts Remember Love Lays its fingers on your heart And holds it Under water Remember that When the next girl smiles

It's harder to make someone laugh than it is to make them cry.

There was no skin on my voice and she heard the bones in my words.

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.

Everything is what it is. I just wish it were something else.

For a while, for as long as you're looking at it, that painting is the world and you get to be in it.

Mum says when wanting collides with getting, that's the moment of truth. I want to collide. I want to run right into Shadow and let the force spill our thoughts so we can pick each other up and pass each other back like piles of shiny stones.

When wanting collides with getting, that's the moment of truth. I want to collide.

If you treat glass right, it doesn't crack. If you know the properties, you can make things; the color of dusk and night and love. But you can't control people like that and I really, really wish you could. I want the world to be glass.

Did you know that we're made up of the same matter as stars? We are nuclear energy exploding.

...the definition of crazy is doing something close to the same thing twice and expecting a different end.

I need the shade of blue that rips your heart out. You don't see that type of blue around here.

dreaming's the only way to get anywhere.

What are you doing?' 'Asking the universe questions.' 'The universe just dumped you over the side of a steep hill. You really want to ask it questions?

If you don't want a generation of robots, fund the arts!

Kept dreaming of this spot she had on her neck, this tiny country. I wanted to visit, to paint a picture of what I found there, a wall with a road map of her skin.

You don't have to love someone to have sex with them.' 'I know that,' I say, trying to act like I'm not embarrassed for thinking love and sex are the same thing. I know they're not but I want them to be close enough to at least brush each other as they pass.

I like that about art, that what you see is sometimes more about who you are than what's on the wall.

If my like for you was a football crowd, you’d be deaf ’cause of the roar. And if my like for you was a boxer, there’d be a dead guy lying on the floor. And if my like for you was sugar, you’d lose your teeth before you were twenty. And if my like for you was money, let’s just say you’d be spending plenty.

Open skies painted above painted doorways and painted birds skimming across bricks trying to fly away. Little bird, what are you thinking? You come from a can.

... I ask, 'Do you think Dylan's telling the truth?' Daisy checks her face in a little mirror, then hands it to Jazz. 'You want me to find out?' 'Let's not ruin it by calling them liars.' '...I won't ruin it. I've got this special way of getting the truth out of Dylan.' 'How?' I ask. 'I kick him in the balls.' 'That's pretty special.

I escaped onto the wall, a painted ghost trapped in a jar. I stood back to look at it and I knew the sad thing wasn't that the ghost was running out of air. the sad thing was that he had enough air in that small space to last him a lifetime. What were you thinking, little ghost? Letting yourself get trapped like that?

You know who Mr. Darcy is?" "I exist, therefore I know who Mr. Darcy is.

I spray the sky fast. Eyes ahead and behind. Looking for cops. Looking for anyone I don't want to be here. Paint sails and the things that kick in my head scream from can to brick. See this, see this. See me emptied onto a wall.

Asking's the easy bit. Then there's everything that comes after.

You grabbed my arse.' 'You broke my nose.