Never saw the film. Don’t need to. Spent too many years living it.

You know it's not the silk suits, Gucci handbags, or blue diamonds she's going to miss most—it's that delicious hot chocolate. Moral of the story? Don't mess with the Juice!

I saw you - and him
and him - walking in the rain
you were holding hands and I'll never be the same.
Tossing and turning
another sleepless night
the rain crashes against my window pane.
Jumped into my car
didn't drive too far
that moment I knew I would never be the same.

"Song from the Broadway Musical “Babes in Arms”...

...The furtive sigh
The blackened eye
The words ‘I’ll love you till the day I die’
The self-deception
the believes the lie
I wish I were in love again!

Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn.

That’s more like it, Rhett. You tell it to that game-playing, high-maintenance, two-timing, can’t-make-up-her-mind, self-absorbed little tramp.

Buried among the Sanskrit in Eliot's master work is a seamy encounter between a typist and a pimply young man, which Eliot—catty, cynical bitch that he is—describes using iambic pentameter or, as all the tweed jackets with elbow patches know it, "the language of love". Pretentious and pedantic perhaps, but so genius it almost makes up for "Cats".

A quick scan of the chapter titles provides a good index to any lover’s existence: Absence, Anxiety, Pigeonholed, Connivance, Contingencies, Flayed, Irksome, Unbearable, Languor, Monstrous... To hear this guy tell it, a lover is someone who passes the time suffering from despair, unrequited longing, desperate fear, and miserable doubt. A perfect compendium piece to the book I’m writing entitled, “I’m Sorry: A Guide To Dating Me.”

Despite how magnificently creepy Nina Simone's version of this song is, it always has and always will belong to Mr. Hoohaha himself, Screamin' Jay Hawkins. Maybe it's the jerky, Frankenstein's monster rhythm. Maybe it's Hawkins' unearthly Tim-Curry-on-PCP voice. Or maybe it's simply the fact that he made a career of losing his shit on cue. "I don't care if you don't want me," he stammers, the whites of his eyes matching the foam around his mouth, "I'm yours."

If for no other reason, and there are so many other reasons, than just to hear Woody Allen refer to his ex-wife as a "meshugganeh cunt". Anyone attempting to find a more committed anti-romantic than central character Harry Block, will have quite a task on their hands. All his real relationships become fodder for his cruel novels, and his only genuine relationships are with fictional characters; there's no place in Harry's real world for love.

The most important words in the English language are not "I love you" but "It's benign."

Poor little J-O-E. He thinks he's getting a S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E, where in fact it's just years and years of T-H-E-R-A-P-Y.

Our little boy is four years old and quite a little man
So we spell out the words we don't want him to understand
Like T-O-Y or maybe S-U-R-P-R-I-S-E
But the words we're hiding from him now
Tear the heart right out of me.

Sure, Belle & Sebastian seem fey and twee and innocent. But what other band can get shoe-gazing wallflowers on the dance floor and cheering at the mere mention of an arab strap? Tigermilk is their first album that politely sings stories about getting your child bride drunk, falling in love with a victim of abuse, and ultimately (and cheerfully) declaring...

I don’t love anything
Not even Christmas
Especially not that
I don’t love anything

Sex? Yeah, she can get her some sex. Been doing that since she was 12. It's sodas and letters and "all that stupid old shit" she misses. You know, a boyfriend.

You got up out of bed
You said you had a lot of work to do
But I heard the rest in your head
And almost immediately I felt sorry
'Cause I didn't think this would happen again
No matter what I could do or say
Just that I didn't think this would happen again
With or without my best intentions

Cameron Diaz is the insanely obsessive fiancee who will stop at nothing to have a perfect marriage. Two hours, one dead hooker, and several maimed and dead friends later finds her in possibly the greatest closing shot of any film ever.

Most people, catching sight of a recent ex smooching someone new at a trendy LA nightspot, would slink off and drown their sorrows; thankfully these two are not most people. Having already traded barbs in song, they exchanged words and pointed fingers until, all other avenues of discourse exhausted, they took their feud…to the dance floor. And thus the next step in the evolution of romantic disagreement was born.

The Delgados have crafted a beautiful and catch pop song that sounds full of hope and joy. Why do they sound so happy? Because they’ve taken the trite lyrics of love songs and replaced them with the proper
feeling of hate.

Hate is all around
find it in your heart in every waking sound
On your way to school, work or church
you’ll find that it’s the only rule
Build a different world,
hate will help you find what you’ve been looking for
Hate is everywhere,
inside your mother’s heart and you will find it there
You ask me what you need hate is all you need

The most unusual triangle in the history of love: a girl, a boy, and his computer. The amazingly hot Virginia Madsen is in it. Playing the cello. Against the computer. And Edgar the computer falls in love with her and has Boy George write a song for her to show his love. Except she doesn’t know that it's the computer — a Commodore PET, mind you — that loves her. So then Lenny Von Dohlen takes credit for it and Edgar gets REALLY PISSED and starts fucking with his credit history, electricity, and all this shit. And before you realize it, you’ve heard a Jeff Lynne song play in its entirety.