“She wasn't actually speaking to me, she was singing a kind of lullaby of talk. But, eventually, the music stopped. ”
“It was the only lullaby she would ever sing, and it was sung in Hell.”
“She wasn't speaking to me - in the juvenile, petty sense of the phrase.”
“She heard music. Angels singing? she thought, dizzy. It seemed odd for angels to sing after table sex. She managed to swallow on a throat wildly dry. "Music," she murmured. "My phone. In my pants. Don't care.""Oh. Not angels." "No. Def Leppard.”
“You'd be surprised." Charlie said."You go to bed one night singing her a lullaby, and she wakes up listening to Limp Bizkit.""What the hell is Limp Bizkit?”
“She wished there was some place where she could go to hum it out loud. Some kind of music was too private to sing in a house cram fall of people. It was funny, too, how lonesome a person could be in a crowded house.”