You've Got Mail

This woman is the most adorable creature I've ever been in contact with, and if she turns out even to be as good-looking as a mailbox, I'd be crazy not to turn my life upside down and marry her.

The whole purpose of places like Starbucks is for people with no decision-making ability whatsoever to make six decisions just to buy one cup of coffee. Short, tall, light, dark, caf, decaf, low-fat, non-fat, etc. So people who don't know what the hell they're doing or who on earth they are can, for only $2.95, get not just a cup of coffee but an absolutely defining sense of self: Tall. Decaf. Cappuccino.

People are always telling you that change is a good thing. But all they're really saying is that something you didn't want to happen at all... has happened.

— Why did you stop by again?
— I wanted to be your friend.
— Oh. I knew it wasn't... possible. What can I say, sometimes a guy just wants the impossible.

Do you ever feel you've become the worst version of yourself? That a Pandora's box of all the secret, hateful parts — your arrogance, your spite, your condescension — has sprung open? Someone upsets you and instead of smiling and moving on, you zing them.

I go on line, and my breath catches in my chest until I hear three little words: You've got mail. I hear nothing, not even a sound on the streets of New York. Just the beat of my own heart. I have mail. From you.

— I think you'd discover a lot of things if you really knew me.
— If I really knew you, I know what I would find. Instead of a brain, a cash register. Instead of a heart, a bottom line.

I could never be with someone who likes Joni Mitchell. "It's clouds illusions I recall/I really don't know clouds at all." What does that mean? Is she a pilot? Is she taking flying lessons? It must be a metaphor for something, but I don't know what it is.