“We might more of us say these words to others, and more frequently--how healing that would prove to be. "Look, we've had our differences, but how about some chocolate?" Or: "I'm so sorry: how about some chocolate?" Or simply, "Great to see you! How about some chocolate?”

“Can I come back and see you sometime?""Long as you bring me some chocolate," Gramma said, and smiled. "I'm partial to chocolate.""Gramma, you're diabetic.""I'm old, girl. Gonna die of something. Might as well be chocolate.”

“Chocolate says "I'm sorry" so much better than words.”

“I think she cried at my funeral. It's not that I'm conceited or anything, but I'm pretty sure. Sometimes I can actually picture her talking about me to some guy she feels close to. Talking about me dying. About how they lowered me into the grave, kind of shrivelled up and pitiful, like an old chocolate bar. About how we never really got a chance. And afterwards the guy fucks her, a fuck that's all about making her feel better.”

“So what are you in the mood for? (Sunshine)How about naked Sunshine al dente covered in whipped cream and chocolate? We could even put a cherry on top. (Talon)”

“As time went on, we learned to arm ourselves in our different ways. Some of us with real guns, some of us with more ephemeral weapons, an idea or improbable plan or some sort of formulation about how best to move through the world. An idea that will let us be. Protect us and keep us safe. But a weapon nonetheless.”