“Gus: "It tastes like..."Me: "Food."Gus: "Yes, precisely. It tastes like food, excellently prepared. But it does not taste, how do I put this delicately...?"Me: "It does not taste like God Himself cooked heaven into a series of five dishes which were then served to you accompanied by several luminous balls of fermented, bubbly plasma while actual and literal flower petals floated down around your canal-side dinner table."Gus: "Nicely phrased."Gus's father: "Our children are weird."My dad: "Nicely phrased.”

“Me: "it does not taste like God Himself cooked heaven into a series of five dishes which were then served to you accompanied by several luminous balls of fermented, bubbly plasma while actual and literal flower petals floated down all around you canal-siide dinner table."Gus: "Nicely phrased"Gus's father: Our children are weird."My dad: "Nicely phrased”

“Gus knew. Gus knows. I will not tell you our love story, because—like all real love stories—it will die with us, as it should. I'd hoped that he'd be eulogizing me.”

“Like they just wanted to enjoy The Gus Waters Show while it was still in town.”

“I got up and hugged first his dad and then his mom, who held on to me too tight, like Gus used to, squeezing my shoulder blades.”

“How are the eyes?''Oh, excellent,' he said. 'I mean, they're not in my head is the only problem.''Awesome, yeah,' Gus said. 'Not to one-up you or anything, but my body is made out of cancer.''So I heard,' Issac said, trying not to let it get to him. He fumbled toward Gus's hand and found only his thigh.'I'm taken,' Gus said.”

“So how’s it going?”“Okay. Glad to be home, I guess. Gus told me you were in the ICU?”“Yeah,” I said.“Sucks,” he said.“I’m a lot better now,” I said. “I’m going to Amsterdam tomorrow with Gus.”“I know. I’m pretty well up-to-date on your life, because Gus never. Talks. About. Anything. Else.”