Paul Varjak: Holly, I’m in love with you.
Holly Golightly: So what?
Paul Varjak: So what? So plenty! I love you. You belong to me.
Holly Golightly: No. People don’t belong to people.
Paul Varjak: Of course they do.
Holly Golightly: I’m not going to let anyone put me in a cage.
Paul Varjak: I don’t want to put you in a cage. I want to love you.
Holly Golightly: It’s the same thing.
Paul Varjak: No it’s not. Holly…
Holly Golightly: I’m not Holly. I’m not Lula Mae, either. I don’t know who I am! I’m like cat here, a couple of no-name slobs. We belong to nobody and nobody belongs to us. We don’t even belong to each other.
Paul Varjak: You know what’s wrong with you, Miss Whoever-You-Are? You’re chicken, you’ve got no guts. You’re afraid to stick out your chin and say, “Okay, life’s a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that’s the only chance anybody’s got for real happiness.” You call yourself a free spirit, a wild thing, and you’re terrified somebody’s going to stick you in a cage. Well, baby, you’re already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it’s not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somaliland. It’s wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.