“I want a trophy that has atrophy—where the maquette on top isn’t sculpted metal, but rather a flaccid sack of jelly that sags and droops.”

“While I appear to be happy and giggling, rest assured that inside I am sad. And angry. Like that one time—Feb 14, 1997, at 1:47 pm to be exact—when John Beaverthief stole my girlfriend. He snatched her from the shelf of my life like she was a trophy wife. But she was no trophy; she was more of a maquette.”

“A trophy isn’t about the hardware, the gold-painted statue mounted on marble, it’s about the recognition of excellence. A trophy is a physical representation of the abstract concepts of hard work and dedication. And that’s precisely why I don’t have any trophies.
”

“Top-heavy sunflowers droop, their leaves baked golden by the August sun.”

“Somehow I think Trophy Wives wear more makeup and less cutlery. But hey, I haven't ever met a Trophy Wife, maybe I'm wrong. Maybe they know what I know, that the true way to a man's heart is six inches of metal between his ribs.”

“She was clean": no piercings, tattoos, or scarifications. All the kids were now. And who could blame them, Alex thought, after watching three generations of flaccid tattoos droop like moth-eaten upholstery over poorly stuffed biceps and saggy asses?”