“That's okay," you told me. "I like them better when they're dried up. I'll keep them for years. Until our Get Rid of the Roses anniversary.”

“When you stand out there," John continues in a hoarse voice, "keep your chin up, all right? Don't let them get to you." "I won't.""Make them work for it. Punch someone if you have to." John gives me a sad, crooked smile. "You're a scary kid. So scare them. Okay? All the way until the end."For the first time in a long time, I feel like a little brother. I have to swallow hard to keep my eyes dry. "Okay," I whisper.”

“Henry,that's how you get rid of fleas. You keep them from laying eggs. You go to war with them.”

“It's like this," he'd explained once to Connie. "If someone gave you a single rose, you'd be happy, right?" "Okay," he went on, "Now imagine someone gives you ten thousand roses.""That is a whole lotta roses," she said. "That's too much.""Right. Too much. But more than that, it makes each individual rose much less special, right? It makes it hard to pick one out and say, 'That's the good one.' And it makes you want to just get rid of them all because none of them seem special now."Connie had narrowed her eyes. "Are you saying when you're at school you just want to get rid of everyone?”

“zoegirl: have u named the chicks?SnowAngel:yes, but i keep getting them mixed up. so now i call all of them "squishy." they're the collective squishy.zoegirl: *r* they squishy?SnowAngel: when you squeeze them,yes. but not in a yucky way.SnowAngel: they're growing on me, the little squishies. altho 1 of them pooped on my pillow.zoegirl: u let them on your bed?SnowAngel: they like it when i bounce them.”

“Those are exactly the kind of memories I try to avoid, but they're like abestos: invisible and deadly. You need special gear to get rid of them.”