“It's you who are telling me; opening my eyes to things I'd looked at so long that I'd ceased to see them.”

“Finally, when happiness came knocking on my door, I'd be waiting. I'd open the door and say: "Where have you been? What took you so long? And if you just give me a moment I'll pack and go with you.”

“His expression transforms, looking mean in a good way, promising me greed and aggression, things I'd never ask for but long to see.”

“A thousand times today I've started to open my mouth, started to squeak out, "Can you tell me...? But then I'd look into the front seat, at my mother's silent shaking, my father's grim profile, the mournful bags under his eyes, and all the questions I might ask seemed abusive. Assault and battery, a question mark used like a club. My parents are old and fragile. I'd have to heartless to want to hurt them.”

“I'd thought of her with unblinking eyes, moving always, across the pages of opened books with rapid precision, but as she stood in front of me, her eyes looked slow and watery. I capsized into them.”

“Did you really think I'd ceased to care? Kitten, I care so much it wrecks me.”