“There’s something depraved about screwing a woman who doesn’t give a fuck about it. It heats your blood…” And then, after a moment’s meditation— “Can you imagine what she’d be like if she had any feelings?”

“Out of your league?! What fucking league are you talking about?! You are a man, she is a fucking woman! That is all that matters, goddamn it!”

“I remember how Talia got me to talk about the gardening thing. I’ve never told anyone else about that, but with this girl, I sort of feel like I can be myself without worrying about looking uncool. After all, she doesn’t even know what “cool” is.”

“You are going to be dead a long time, and only have a brief period of time to feel, to do something meaningful, to do something that matters. Imagine your own death. Even though we might not like to think about it, there is nothing we can do to prevent it. It's inevitable. Picture the engraving on your tombstone after decades of sticking with your current routine. On your tombstone is a single paragraph about the life you led. It talks about your personality, your accomplishments and contributions, your missteps and failings. What's it going to say? If you keep doing what you're doing, are you going to like what it says? What don't you like? What do you like? What becomes your life story? We are talking about your legacy, your mark on the world.”

“NO. No no no. I don't want to screw you. I just love you. When did who you want to screw become the whole game? Since when is the person you want to screw the only person you get to love? It's so stupid, Tiny! I mean, Jesus, who even gives a fuck about sex?! People act like it's the most important thing humans do, but come on. How can our sentient fucking lives revolve around something slugs can do. I mean, who you want to screw and whether you screw them? Those are important questions, I guess. But they're not that important. You know what's important? Who would you die for? Who do you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you? Whose drunken nose would you pick?!”

“There was something special about being in a strange place, all alone in a mass of people even if you had just screwed up your life, or perhaps especially if you had just screwed up your life.”