“The word rattled in my head like rocks in an oatmeal box.”

“Because all the words in the world won't do much good if they're just rattling around in your head.”

“Dear Complete and Utter Stranger,The first thing that I have to say is that I hate oatmeal. I really hate it. And you know what? If you like oatmeal at all? I mean even the tiniest bit? I mean, say you were lost in the Himalayas, right, and you hadn't eaten anything except a Mars Bar for about seven years, right, and you're really cold and your fingers are all dropping off, right, and you look behind this rock, and there's this bowl of oatmeal? Say you would even think about eating the oatmeal?Well, JUST DON'T BOTHER WRITING TO ME, OKAY?”

“People talk about books being an escape, but here on the tube, this one feels more like a lifeline...The motion of the train makes her head rattle, but her eyes lock on the words the way a figure skater might choose a focal point as she spins, and just like that, she's grounded again.”

“There's an oatmeal cookie in there. I see no reason for the existence of oatmeal, particularly in cookies.”

“She look me over from head to foot. Then she cackle. Sound like a death rattle. You sure is ugly, she say, like she ain't believed it.”