“I use the chopsticks to outline the biggest heart possible. Then I use the Sweet'N Low packets to fill it in. I borrow some from two other tables when I run out.When I'm done, I point to the heart on the table."This," I say, "is only about one ninety-millionth of how I feel about you."She laughs."I'll try not to take it personally," she says."Take what personally?" I say. "You should take it very personally.""The fact that you used artificial sweetener?"I take a Sweet'N Low and fling it at her."Not everything is a symbol!" I shout.”

“Game over," you say, and I don't know which I take more exception to-- the fact that you say its over, or the fact that you say it's a game.”

“recant, v.I want to take back at least half of the “I love you”s, because I didn’t mean them as much as the other ones. I want to take back the book of artsy photos I gave you, because you didn’t get it and said it was hipster trash. I want to take back what I said about you being an emotional zombie. I want to take back the time I called you “honey” in front of your sister and you looked like I had just shown her pictures of us having sex. I want to take back the wineglass I broke when I was mad, because it was a nice wineglass and the argument would have ended anyway. I want to take back the time we had sex in a rent-a-car, not because I feel bad about the people who got in the car after us, but because it was massively uncomfortable. I want to take back the trust I had while you were away in Austin. I want to take back the time I said you were a genius, because I was being sarcastic and I should have just said you’d hurt my feelings. I want to take back the secrets I told you so I can decide now whether to tell them to you again. I want to take back the piece of me that lies in you, to see if I truly miss it. I want to take back at least half the “I love you”s, because it feels safer that way.”

“In a field, I am the absence of field. In a crowd, I am the absence of crowd. In a dream, I am the absence of dream. But I don't want to live as an absence. I move to keep things whole. Because sometimes I feel drunk on positivity. Sometimes I feel amazement at the tangle of words and lives, and I want to be a part of that tangle. "Game over," you say, and I don't know which I take more exception to- the fact that you say that it's over, or the fact that you say it's a game. It's only over when one of us keeps the notebook for good. It's only a game if there is an absence of meaning. And we've already gone too far for that.”

“I was horribly bookish, to the point of coming right out and saying it, which I knew was not socially acceptable. I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as often as ramrod or chum or teetotaler.”

“So what else can I tell you?" I asked. "I mean, to get you to reveal Lily to me."She triangled her fingers under her chin. "Let's see. Are you a bed wetter?""Am I a...?""Bed wetter. I am asking if you are a bed wetter."I knew she was trying to get me to blink. But I wouldn't."No, ma'am. I leave my beds dry.""Not even a little drip every now and then?""I'm trying hard to see how this is germane.""I'm gauging your honesty. What is the last periodical you read methodically?""Vogue. Although, in the interest of full disclosure, that's mostly because I was in my mother's bathroom, enduring a rather long bowel movement. You know, the kind that requires Lamaze.""What adjective do you feel the most longing for?"That was easy. "I will admit I have a soft spot for fanciful.""Let's say I have a hundred million dollars and offer it to you. The only condition is that if you take it, a man in China will fall off his bicycle and die. What do you do?""I don't understand why it matters whether he's in China or not. And of course I wouldn't take the money."The old woman nodded."Do you think Abraham Lincoln was a homosexual?""All I can say for sure is that he never made a pass at me.""Are you a museumgoer?""Is the pope a churchgoer?""When you see a flower painted by Georgia O'Keefe, what comes to mind?""That's just a transparent ploy to get me to say the word vagina, isn't it? There. I said it. Vagina.”

“And I find myself saying, “It wasn’t really about her.” And finding it’s true.What do you mean?” Norah asks.It was about the feeling, you know? She caused it in me, but it wasn’t about her. It was about my reaction, what I wanted to feel and then convinced myself that I felt, because I wanted it that bad. That illusion. It was love because I created it as love.”