“Yes, I totally would date a fan! I get this question a lot, but I'm always saying yes.”

“I am a die-hard Red Sox fan, and yes, I dated a Yankee fan. I know I should be kicked out of The Nation for that, but I couldn’t help it. He was way too charming back then.”

“I looked over at him. "Is that a proposal?"There was total silence for a couple beats. "I'm not sure. It just popped out.""Let me know when you're sure.""Would you say yes?" Morelli asked."I'm not sure.”

“I asked myself if I would kill my parents to save his life, a question I had been posing since I was fifteen. The answer always used to be yes. But in time, all those boys had faded away, and my parents were still there. I was now less and less willing to kill them for anyone; in fact, I worried for their health. In this case, however, I had to say yes. Yes, I would.”

“I'm twenty-nine, yes really, I'm from Aspen, Colorado, I'm six feet one, yes really, I've been at Quantico two years, yes I date guys, no I dress like this just because I like it, no I'm not married, no I don't currently have a boyfriend, and no I don't want to have dinner with you tonight.”

“Are you okay?" Bill asks.Oh, these questions. I could say:"Yes," which would mean, "No.""No," which would mean, "No, but I'm probably not going to tell you what's the matter anyway.""Yeah," which would mean, "I've been better.""I guess," which would mean, "If you press me, I will probably give you some information.""I don't know," which would mean, "I am breaking down, take what you want - it's all lying in piles of smoky, burning debris on the floor anyway, and I want you to take some pleasure in it. Rub it on your body, you bastard. Love it. Yes, I have post-traumatic stress disorder. Yes, my relationship with Becca is falling apart. Yes, I am spiraling downward. Yes, yes, yes, okay?Everything is fucked up! Is that what you want to hear? Is it? Is it?""I don't know," I say.”