Louie: Pamela... I'm in love with you.
Pamela: Oh, God...
Louie: Yeah, it's that bad. You're so beautiful to me.
Pamela: Oh, ew!
Louie: Shut up! Let me tell you. Let me. Every time I look at your face, or even remember it. It wrecks me. And the way you are with me... And you're just fun and you shit all over me, and you make fun of me and you're real. I don't have enough time in any day to think about you enough. I feel like I'm gonna live a thousand years, 'cause that's how long it's gonna take to have one thought about you. Which is, that I'm crazy about you, Pamela. I don't wanna be with anybody else.
Louie: I don't. I really don't! I don't think about women anymore. I think about you. I had a dream the other night that you and I were on a train, and you were holding my hand. That's the whole dream, that you were holding my hand and I felt you holding my hand. I woke up and I couldn't believe it wasn't real. I'm sick in love with you, Pamela. It's like a condition. It's like polio. I feel like I'm gonna die if I can't be with you. And I can't be with you. So I'm gonna die. And I don't care. 'Cause I was brought into existence to know you, and that's enough. The idea that you would want me back... it's like greedy.