“You can’t steal what no man owns. Like my love, for example. It’s owned exclusively by women.”

“I’d rather fake my own fog, than fake a steamy love scene. Can I interest you in some mist? It’s homemade.”

“My hush is lush. It’s drunk on its own greenness, just as I’m drunk on my blue silence. What would you say if I asked you to turquoise?”

“I can’t swim, because despite my love being shaped like Michael Phelps, it’s so heavy it’s like an anti flotation device. If I can barely even carry it, I can understand how it’s a burden to you and why you don’t want to keep it in your heart.”

“If it’s invisible, I can’t remember if it’s there or not. And not only that, but I can’t even remember what it is.”

“My clones will look like me, and therefore I’ll treat them like myself—starting with spending all their hard-earned money. You can’t love someone else if you can’t first love yourself.”

“If I had my clone take a test for me, it’s likely I’d misspell my own name. And I’m terrible at remembering people’s names—even if that person is me.”