“Just remember this, Emma -- not every Jell-O salad turns out perfect. But it can still taste real good.”

“She’s beautiful, but she’s also got brains. I’ll bet zombies would love to eat out of her skull like a bowl of Jell-O that had an IQ of 180—which is absurd, because the last bowl of Jell-O I ate only measured in with an IQ of 123. Still, an IQ of 123 is more than double what it probably takes to be elected into political office.”

“After a good run, my legs feel like Jell-O. Somebody get me a spoon and stick a fork in me.”

“I turned over, and those big hands got to work on my back. I stifled a whimper in the pillow, because Marco's idea of a massage bore no resemblance whatsoever to the relaxing spa variety. There was no lavender oil, no soothing music, no hot towels. Just an all-out assault on cramped muscles, until they cowered in surrender and turned to Jell-O. ”

“As I move along the line, other food items are plunked onto my tray: a small salad of iceberg lettuce and bacos, a slice of white bread with a pat of Hotel Holiday butter and blob of red Jell-O with fruit cocktail trapped inside. Instantly, I feel compassion for the trapped fruit.”

“Because the perfect moment can never be improved, and should be remembered, cherished, just the way it was. Like every moment I spend in your arms.”