“I’m only saying what you won’t. He’s a hunk, admit it. A tall, dark, exotic hunk who wants to bed you, and you must be a fucking nun, because it’s been three weeks since you met him and you’re going to have to remove the cobwebs from your vagina with forceps soon, they’re growing into intelligent life form—”

“In your thirties something strange starts to happen. It’s a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I’m — you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you’re not. You’re thirty-five. And then you’re bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it’s decades before you admit it.”

“This kind of thing is so awkward and horrible, and from your end, you know it must… Okay, I’m just going to come out and tell you: I’m asking you out. That’s what I’m doing. Please don’t answer yet, because I know you might have a “No” queued up in your head already, but will you please let me say a few things? I know that being a woman in New York must be hard, because it’s basically disappointing that you try to be nice to men as human beings, and then they respond by just torpedoing to your vagina. And I want you to know that I’m aware that you’re young and beautiful - and I’m not… either of those things. And part of me knows that as soon as my lips stop moving, you’re going to say no. But please think of the fact that it’s low risk what I’m asking. You just come out with me for a drink, and even if you got up in the middle of the one drink, I wouldn’t hold it against you. Just make a judgement based on nothing horrible would happen if you came out with me. I think you’re so attractive. I’m attracted to you because you’re nice, and you’re a decent person, and those are probably the reasons you want people to be attracted to you, right? Also, you’re horribly cute. I mean, you’re cute as hell. And I grow on people - women. Some times go by, and you get past the bald head and that I sweat a lot and I’m lumpy… I’ve run out of things to say. Can you just tell me now? Did this work?”

“So does that mean if you won’t fuck me because I’m high, I could fuck you because you’re not?”

“But it’s atheists who say that the world wasn’t made by anyone, and you say you’re not an atheist . . ."I’m not because I can’t bring myself to believe that all these things we see around us—the way trees and fruits grow, and the solar system, and our brains—came about by chance. They’re too well made. And therefore there must have been a creating mind. God.”

“We’re both drunk,”“This isn’t right,” he said.“I want you.”“I need you to say it,” he said.“I’ll say whatever you want.”“Then say that you belong to me. Say that you’ll take me back. I won’t do this unless we’re together.”“We’ve never really been apart, have we?” “I need to hear you say it. I need to know you’re mine.”“I’ve been yours since the second we met.”“Say it again,”he said.“I’m yours,” I breathed. Every nerve, inside and out ached for more. “I don’t ever want to be apart from you again.”“Promise me,”“I love you. I’ll love you forever.”