“Truthfully, if you want to remember me, do it now. I won’t give a shit when I’m dead.”

“No, I’m done! I’m tired, I’m sweaty, I’m in agony, and why do I feel like I need to shit?”“It’s totally natural to feel that way,” said Grace in a placatory, calming voice. “Some women even have one during labor.”“What?” The word dripped with horror. “Women can shit when they’re in labor? Tell me that won’t happen to me! Don’t you let me shit, Grace!”

“I’m here to right wrongs and I’m gonna do it, Angel. You told me I’d had my last chance but I don’t accept that and I won’t. If you tell me now that my explanation is not enough and you want me gone, I’m not goin’. I’m not giving up. I got one part of my life’s dream still open to me, very sign she gives me is screaming that she’s standing in my arms right now and I’m not gonna be ninety years old, looking back on my life and regretting that I gave up that dream.”

“It’s like an inner struggle for me, between saying I don’t give a shit and trying to make it work. You want to do the right thing, but I’m sick of people thinking I’m difficult.”

“I like my freedom, and I sure as shit won’t ask your permission to cross stuff off my bucket list. I’m cranky in the morning until I’ve had my coffee, and I’m not sure I ever want kids... I’m not used to compromising or having someone to answer to or clear my schedule with. And to be honest? It scares the ever-loving shit out of me. But I want to try. If you do. Because being with you is an adventure.”

“I want to do something splendid…Something heroic or wonderful that won’t be forgotten after I’m dead…I think I shall write books.”