“And it occurred to me that the reason she makes it work, probably, is because she's so comfortable with herself. And you know, that's not such a bad notion, in the whole life-lesson business. Being comfortable with yourself. Because if you're not okay with who you are, why should anyone else be?”

“Everyone's scared. So scared they can't sleep sometimes. Or eat. Or keep their weight on.""Then why bother playing?" I asked. It was a whisper, this question."Because. You love the game. You love the people you play with. You love winning, maybe. You love that one moment when you get it right . . . I dunno. Why do you play?""Because," I whispered, "it's who I am."Sounds like a good reason to me.”

“And that's where our conversation went from there, than God, both of us laughing our butts off at the thought of a hoops game between two teams on intravenous fluids. Which makes absolutely no sense at all; I know that. But that's why it cheered me up, because it was so absolutely stupid. It cheered me up more than I'd ever thought I'd be cheered up again.”

“I’d promised myself that I’d really work on talking more, talking about uncomfortable things, because I could see from Brian how well things could work out if you did.”

“I ultimately decided to hold my tongue and settle instead for the comfort of ignorance. Not knowing the truth, I retained hope, and that hope I held like a smooth warm stone against my heart.”

“Oh. Listen, this is really hard for me . . . ""What is?""You know. Being liked." I started to cry. I couldn't help it.”

“Why was it that jam always coated me so?”