“Ken was Mary's new boyfriend, a nice guy who made all their friends comments, "Oh, there he is. That's what she's been waiting for," as if finding your perfect match was a guarantee as long as you were patient enough.”

“I've never been on a date before," Isabella said to Mary as she got ready that night. "You've been on plenty of dates," Mary said. "No," Isabella said. "I've been out to eat with boys who were my boyfriend, but that's not dating. That's just parelle eating.”

“She had long ago concluded that it was impossible to find guys who were considerate and sensitive as well as hot. Well, impossible to find some that didn’t already have boyfriends of their own anyway.”

“Listen.” The voice is extremely loud, and I am forced to hold the telephone away from my ear. “I don’t know who you are, or why you have Jack’s phone, but he is my boyfriend, and—”Boyfriend? What is a boyfriend? Perhaps it is something like a beau. “Is he engaged to you, then?” I hope not.“What? No. Of course not.”“Oh, what a relief. He is my true love, and you do not sound very nice.”“What? Listen, you . . .”And then, strangely enough, she calls me a female dog.”

“If you are patient...and wait long enough...Nothing will happen ”

“That's what writers do, Conroy, we wait for the tortoises to come. We wait for that lady who walks them. That's how art works. It's never a jackrabbit, or a racehorse. It's the tortoises that hold all the secrets. We've got to be patient enough to wait for them.”