“What must that be like? To be admired before you’ve even said a word, to be desired two or three hundred times a day by people who have absolutely no idea what you’re like?”

“Like a word on a page that you’ve printed and read a million times, that suddenly looks strange or wrong, foreign. And you feel scared for a second, like you’ve lost something, even if you’re not sure what it is.”

“Being a mother is like trying to hold a wolf by the ears,” Gram said. “If you have three or four –or more – chickabiddies, you’re dancing on a hot griddle all the time. You don’t have time to think about anything else. And if you’ve only got one or two, it’s almost harder. You have room left over – empty spaces that you think you’ve got to fill up.”

“«…you’re too old not to have had, how shall I say, certain experiences. You’ve had bad internet dates. You’ve had people be creeps to you. You’ve seen what you’ve seen; you’ve felt what you’ve felt. Ideology is for people who don’t trust their own experiences and perceptions of the world» «I feel like I am going mad» «Madness is actually quite rare in individuals. It’s groups of people who go mad. Countries, cults ... religions»”

“You’ve no idea what you’re getting involved with.” Cole closed his eyes. He seemed to be reaching inside to calm himself.Livia took a step out of the pew. “Cole, I can’t turn back now. My life leads to his. It’s as simple as that.”“Two months.” Cole looked doubtful.“Four hundred forty-six smiles, plus two months of talking twice a day, five times a week,” Livia corrected.”

“You can't tell. That's something I'm learning here in N.Y.C: you have no fucking idea what people are really like. They're not even two-faced--they're, like, multiple personalities.”