“Having sex with your neighbour is not a good idea. Not under any circumstances, nothing good will come of it. It’s a cliché. It’s a soap opera. It’s a bad made for TV movie.”

“Sex is just sex. Sometimes it’s really good, true, but it’s nothing in da grand scheme a’ things. We may have fucked, but we never made love.”

“Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough.”

“I have no desire to sleep with you. I want to fuck you. And there is no such thing as perfectly good sex.  If it’s “perfectly good,” I mock in falsetto, “he should be shot in the head and put out of everyone’s misery. Sex either blows your fucking mind, or it’s not good enough. You want me to blow your fucking mind, Ms. Lane? Come on.  Do it.  Be a big girl.”

“Rule if this goes bad it’s gonna be so, so bad.” Her voice was just a husky whisper against my chest.“True, but if it’s good it’s going be so very, very good.”

“It’s good.’ She chirps the last bit as if that were all to say about a book: It’s good or it’s bad. I liked it or I didn’t. No discussions of the writing, the themes, the nuances, the structure. Just good or bad. Like a hot dog.”