“Once we dreamt that we were strangers. We wake up to find that we were dear to each other.”

“All this time I'd thought we were strangers, and it turned out we knew each other intuitively, in our bones, in our blood. It was kind of romantic. Catastrophically romantic.”

“Things weren’t the same with us, not right away, and maybe not ever. We were growing up. We were still figuring out how to be in each other’s lives without being everything to each other.”

“Before we belonged to anyone else, we were each other's.”

“We really wanted to know all the unknowable things about each other and how we were the same and how we were different, if we even were, maybe nobody is.”

“We [ Picasso and Braque], were living in Montmartre, we saw each other every day.... We were like two mountaineers roped together.”

“We did not touch each other. We were both leaning over the abyss.”

“We knew each other. We talked. We passed each other going to the set of our own films. We were doing our jobs. We had great mutual respect.”

“We were each other's rock. But did it make us each other's destiny?”

“There's you. There's me. We love each other, and we have since we were kids, so we should be together. The end.”