“I'm scared," she said. "These days I feel like a snail without a shell." "I'm scared too," I said. "I feel like a frog without any webs." She looked up and smiled. Wordlessly we walked over to a shaded part of the building and held each other and kissed, a shell-less snail and a webless frog.”

“How do you feel?'Scared,' she said. 'Really scared.' But you don't look it.' I feel I'm shivering inside.”

“I'm scared to die," I whispered as Michael walked in."He was scared to live," he said kissing my forehead.”

“Tonight I walked around the pond scaring frogs; a couple of them jumped off, going, in effect, eek, and most grunted, and the pond was still. But one big frog, bright green like a poster-paint frog, didn't jump, so I waved my arm and stamped to scare it, and it jumped suddenly, and I jumped, and then everything in the pond jumped, and I laughed and laughed.”

“I'm scared of using the few memories I have and turning them into memories of memories, like songs you've played too many times, and you feel just a bit less excited by each time.”

“Lovers are not snails; they don't have to protrude from their shells and meet each other halfway. Meet me within your own self.”