“I am forever engaged in a silent battle in my head over whether or not to lift the fork to my mouth, and when I talk myself into doing so, I taste only shame. I have an eating disorder.”

“Where are we?" She sat up."My room at the cabin.""Your room?"He propped himself up on one elbow and shrugged his other shoulder. "Needed someplace soft to land. Besides...Now when you teleport without a destination you've got a fifty-fifty chance of either ending up in the lake, or in my bed. I have to say, I like those odds.""Ha-ha.”

“You coming?"She hesitated, weighing her options. Risk running back down the flaming aisles to find another exit? Or trust the guy who'd been stalking her all afternoon?The fire spread to the nearby shelves. The heat was growing unbearable."You cut me deep," he said. "You'd actually choose a fiery death over the prospect of my company. I have to admit, that stings a bit.”

“And so I miss the fertilization that might come from a contact. And for me--yes, I think I might as well admit it--fertilization does come a great deal from contacts. Why then do I avoid them--in a sort of false pride--shyness--timorous modesty? I used to be afraid of falling in love with people--or having them think I was--that I was chasing them (how ridiculous--I am actually always running away!) but now surely--I should be mature enough to be over that. I am no longer afraid of falling in love, and the other false modesties should vanish. I cannot bear to think "par delicatesse j'ai perdu ma vie." (Because of discretion I have lost my life).”

“From the first moment I saw you in your gilded box the young tyrant who sent me to die you have ruled all my thoughts. I hated that you were so beautiful. I had no idea you were the incredible being you are. Give me all the beats of your heart and I will spend all my days trying to make up for what I've done to you and all my nights worshipping you. Xan”

“Law looked dumbstruck, almost angry. He breathed, "Son of a bitch." And to Tom's surprise, Law got down on one knee and took his hand. "Tom, you beloved bastard, I love you. I need you in my life forever. I cannot imagine existence without you. Will you-God please say yes-grant me the honor and the privilege and save my life and marry me?”

“A day out of season, stopping the monotonous count of summer days. Stopping, too, one's own summer routine, so that, looking out on the gray skies, one says not only, 'What time of year is it?' but, 'What time of life am I in? Where am I? What am I doing?”