“You’re attacking that one like a wolverine.”

“Say what you will, but you’re never prepared for the surprise attack.”

“TEACHERLet us begin. Repeat after me. I would like --STUDENTI wud like --TEACHERTo feed your fingertips --STUDENTTo feed yur fingerteeps --TEACHERTo the wolverines.”

“Folks build a reputation by attacking you while you’re alive - or praising you after you ain’t.”

“You’re worse than those bikers,” she spat, her body tense and coiling, ready to attack. “At least they knew they were monsters. You’re pathetic! You’re a monster who imagines he’s something else.”

“You’re not quite the one because you don’t feel permanent. You’re lovely. You’re here. You’re soft and comfortable and I can curl up beside you and hey, at least neither of us are alone. You don’t feel like the start of something, you feel like the continuation of nothing. You’re not quite the one because we’re not even thinking about crazy concepts like the “one.” No one is meeting anyone’s parents. No one is going to be a plus-one at anyone’s friend’s weddings. No one is holding hands on the subway train. You’re not quite the one because you’re not meant to be the one. You’re a bookmark, a beautiful pause, a blinking light on hold at an office desk.”