“Are you implying that our relationship is like a Spanish soap opera?” “I’m not implying. I’m saying it.”

“Question for your life: If your face looked like your ass, and I’m not implying it doesn’t, would you consider invading Russia in the middle of winter wearing only shorts?”

“I’m turning into an old woman. Might as well start knitting and bitching about soap operas, gas prices, and rude drivers.” – Sundown”

“What’s with her?” says the painter. “She’s mad because she’s a woman,” Jon says. This is something I haven’t heard for years, not since high school. Once it was a shaming thing to say, and crushing to have it said about you, by a man. It implied oddness, deformity, sexual malfunction. I go to the living room doorway. “I’m not mad because I’m a woman,” I say. “I’m mad because you’re an asshole.”

“...For all the days of our lives," we finished and I felt a little like a character in one of my grandma's soap operas...”

“Celestials is a soapy space opera. Perhaps a spacey soap opera.”