“Everybody was sorry. Sorry was easy. Sorry was for suckers.”

“Rule Number Two, Monsignor. Do not show pity.”

“She felt like a baton getting passed along in a relay race, completely devoid of any control over her destiny.”

“I thought you'd be better at this.""Why?"Bridget shrugged. "'Cause your dad's a cop.""Right," Matt said, shifting his body so he wasn't blocking the light. "Why wouldn't he teach me Breaking and Entering 101?"Bridget stifled a yawn. "Might be helpful now.""Patience, grasshopper." Matt inserted a second metal prong into the lock. "I know a few tricks."Bridget heard a soft click, and Matt raised his eyebrows in an unspoken "I told you so" before twisting the handle. The door swung open."Slick, MacGyver," Bridget whispered, patting him on the head. "Remind me to give you a cookie.”

“Someone tells me I’ve been touched by Jesus, I remember.”“Not Jesus,” he said in all seriousness. “The hand of God.”

“As expected, the church lady grumbled something incoherent and put Bridget’s call on hold. A peppy rendition of “City of God” blared as hold music just long enough for Bridget to start to sing along with the chorus. Catholic brainwashing at its best.”

“The sixties have a reputation for being open and free and cool, but the reality was that everybody was straight. Everybody was totally straight and then there was Us - this pocketful of nuts. We had long hair, and we'd get chased down the block. People would chase you for ten blocks, screaming, "Beatle!" They were out of their fucking minds- that was the reality of the sixties. Nobody had long hair- you were a fucking freack, you were a fruit, you were not like the rest of the world. - Ronnie Cutrone (1965-1968)”