“If you don't want to be in a story, don't know a writer.”

Ethan Mordden

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“Look, I have no idea what's going on," I said, catching my breath. "I don't like myself either. I don't know what's happening to me. I don't want to tell you to fuck off. But you gotta understand, everything in my life feels different. I just want so badly to know if you like me. And I know how asinine that sounds. If you want me to leave you alone, I will, but sometimes... sometimes you meet somebody and you know that whatever you did before, whatever your life was before, it must have been right... nothing could've been too bad or gone too far wrong because it led you to this person. You're that person. Do you want me to go away?”


“Shut off the door and don't let the light hit you in the ass on your way out.”


“And hey," Gabe added, "I don't even need the second bedroom, so we could set that up as a guest room, then you and Wade can stay when you visit.""You might want a roommate or something.""For what...you won't let me pay you any rent, so it's not like I need the financial assistance.""Well a boyfriend maybe?" "And he'd be sleeping in the second bedroom because?" "When he's mad 'cause you won't put out, for one." Gabe tried to shove me off him. "Don't be mean—like I wouldn't want to have sex with my boyfriend." "I'm just teasing Sally Sensitive, sheesh." "I do actually like having sex you know." Gabe frowned. I gasped, placing a hand on my chest. "Lordy mercy, my little Gabe's all growed up." Gabe laughed at me. "Finally ready to stuff his Italian sausage where the sun doesn't shine!”


“Don't you find it odd," she continued, "that when you're a kid, everyone, all the world, encourages you to follow your dreams. But when you're older, somehow they act offended if you even try.”