She's under duress," Peaseblossom said. "I don't care if she's under duress, over it, or alongside it," Moth said. "Nothing in this world supersedes cake.
I dreamed of you every night. It felt so real. And when I'd wake up the next morning, it was like your disappearance was fresh. Like you'd left me all over again.
How you see and depict yourself will be the exact way people will treat you--Period, Think your worth millions, people will treat you like millions, think pennies, get treated like pennies
I'm sorry," Billy says, "but I felt it was too organized. I like ellipses and teeny jottings and spontaneous poems and particularly all those devices like long lists of melancholy things.
A mystery." He smiled, his teeth a white gleam in the shadowed face. "I like mysteries." "Don't you have enough to do without going looking for trouble?" "I especially like mysteries that involve trouble.
Even though I was in bed and he was in his basement, it really felt like we were back in that uncreated third space, which was a place I really liked visiting with him.
...It sounded like a dragon breathing in time with me, like I had this pet dragon who was cuddled up next to me and cared enough about me to time his breaths to mine.
There's nothing worse than the one that got away. It haunts you for weeks like a bad dream, eats away at your psyche like a termite on softened wood.
...The reason why we’re strippers, is invariably more boring, more grounded in nonexistential needs like money—and pragmatic concerns, like money.
As if we'd fall for an obvious trap like that," said Happy. "We're not going to fall for an obvious trap like that, are we? Oh shit, we are. I want to go home.
Plus, in one of his e-mails, the guy said he didn't like pancakes. What kind of asshole doesn't like pancakes?
I love how, whenever you tell me a story, you go backwards and forwards and tell me everything else that could possibly be happening in every direction, like an explosion. Like a flower blooming.
Nothing in this world feels quite like freedom, except for freedom. And nothing in the world tastes quite like freedom, except for fried bald eagles.
A while back, when Dick and Barry and I agreed that what really matters is what you like, not what you are like, Barry proposed the idea of a questionnaire for prospective partners.
When he told it, I remembered. He handed me my past like… like a spear. But I do not know if I should take it. Is it still mine, if I do not want it?
I had never really thought of marriages as things that involved liking. I had just assumed this man-woman arrangement was yet another adult quirk, like flossing.
I guess this was what it felt like to love someone and feel like you had lost them. Even when you were still holding them in your arms.
His smile was bright and sweet and hot enough to melt solid steel. "Is this the part where I kiss you?" "If you like." "Oh," he said, "I like.
Why do they even call it that, "saving yourself"? Like we need to be rescued from sex? It's not like virgins spend their whole lives engaged in the sacred ceremony of "being saved" from intercourse.
A brick could be used to replace a flat tire. After all, you want to replace like with like, and what’s more flat than a brick?
A brick could be used like a duck could be used like a cat. My duck soup is meowing to be manhandled by a construction worker.
