“My stomach hurts, but if it's guilt or impacted stool, I can't tell. Either way, I'm so full of shit.”

“I guess I should be thankful. Full of thank. But what is thank? I can't eat thank, so I know my stomach isn't full of thank. I can't smell or breathe thank, so I know my lungs aren't full of thank. I'm not even sure how much thank I could fit in the trunk of my car. But I do know one thing. It's much easier to give thanks than something that actually costs money to give.”

“I blame my parents. It's their fault for raising me with a little guilt-demon living in my stomach. I can't ever just do something without having to worry about whether it's right. Now, don't worry, I can usually overcome it.”

“I can't trust the people I care about not to hurt me. And I'm not sure I can trust myself not to hurt them, either.”

“Lucky bit down on his tongue before, "You're so full of shit I'm surprised your eyes aren't brown," clawed its way out of his mouth.”

“Baby...i can't tell you how much i love you right now. My chest feels like it's going to explode, it hurts so much.”