“…I am certain of this one truth: men can achieve closeness without intimacy, while women can achieve intimacy without closeness.For example, Bobbie knows every intimate detail of her dental hygienist’s private life. She doesn’t have a close relationship with her, but she knows more about the woman who cleans her teeth twice a year than I do about most of the guys I play basketball with every week. And still I feel a closeness with every one of them. Maybe it’s because I don’t know too much.”

“Gabe!” she calls. “Dr. Gabe.”He looks at her blankly“Don’t you know me? You’re my OB-GYN.”Gabe’s eyes move instinctively from her face to her crotch. He stares between her legs for a beat. His face lights up in recognition, as if he has X-ray vision.“Joanne! Sure . . . Joanne. How are you?”Both Joanne and I break up. Gabe blushes.“I see so many women,” he says, making it worse.”

“...And Brick and I say in unison, “As long as I’m here.”This is a guy thing.You never want to acknowledge that you and another guy had exactly the same thought in exactly the same words and that you spoke them aloud . . .at exactly the same time. If you’re out on a date and this happens, this is a good thing. It’s evidence that you and your date think alike, you’re in sync, possibly even soul mates, and with some luck, you might get laid. When this occurs with two guys, it’s simply freaky and should go by as if it never happened.”

“The silence lingers and we soak it up like a good steam. Men like silence. We believe in it. We crave it. To us, silence is equal to peace and synonymous with quiet. Thus the common gender-specific phrase uttered by men in homes throughout the world, usually in the evening and on weekends: “Can I please get some peace and quiet, please?”

“Katie is my hero. She has taken on challages in her life that I'm not sure I could ever come close to realizing for myself. I admire her greatly. And I say this,not because I'm her father,but because it's true. But being her father may have just a small bit to do with it”

“Pam: I don't know what it is about me that makes people think I want to hear their problems. Maybe I smile too much. Maybe I wear too much pink. But please remember I can rip your throat out if I need to. And also know that I am not a hooker. That was a long, long time ago.”

“Our moment had passed somehow. I was different. He was, too. Without our “madness” to unite us, there wasn’t anything much there. Or maybe too much had happened in too short a time. It’s like when you take a trip with someone you don’t know very well. Sometimes you can get very close very quickly, but then after the trip is over, you realise all that was a false sort of closeness. An intimacy based on the trip more than the travellers, if that makes any sense.”