“When I was a boy I used to love pizza, and whenever my father took me to the pizzeria I'd order two slices. And I'd sit and he'd watch me wolfing down the first slice with my eyes on the second. I wasn't even tasting that first slice. And one day my father said to me, "Son, you need to learn that while you're eating the first slice of pizza, eat the first slice. Because right now you're eating the second slice before you've finished the first.”

“Though you did eat all the pizza.""I only had five slices," Simon protested, leaning his chair backward so it balanced precariously on its two back legs."How many slices did you think were in a pizza, dork?" Clary wanted to know."Less than five slices isn't a meal. It's a snack." Simon looked apprehensively at Luke. "Does this mean you're going to wolf out and eat me?""Certainly not." Luke rose to toss the pizza box into the trash. "You would be stringy and hard to digest.”

“Luke opened the pizza box and, finding it empty, shut it with a sigh."Though you did eat allthe pizza." "I only had five slices," Simon protested, leaning his chair backward so itbalanced precariously onits two back legs. "How many slices did you think were in a pizza, dork?" Clary wanted toknow. "Less than five slices isn't a meal. It's a snack." Simon looked apprehensively at Luke. "Does thismean you're going towolf out and eat me?”

“Life really is amazing, and when you're about to lose it, you finally notice that you never really took it in before. And you realize the sheer magnitude of what it involves, from your first kiss to your hundredth slice of pizza. I guess that's why those tears drifted down my cheeks.”

“Thank you, Simon, I appreciate that." Luke opened the pizza box and, finding it empty, shut it with a sigh. "Though you did eat all the pizza.""I only had five slices," Simon protested, leaning his chair backward so it balanced precariously on its two back legs."How many slices did you think were in a pizza, dork?" Clary wanted to know."Less than five slices isn't a meal. It's a snack." Simon looked apprehensively at Luke. "Does this mean you're going to wolf out and eat me?""Certainly not." Luke rose to toss the pizza box into the trash. "You would be stringy and hard to digest.""But kosher," Simon pointed out cheerfully."I'll be sure to point any Jewish lycanthropes your way." Luke leaned his back against the sink.”

“Because I'm not, in fact, depressed, Prozac makes me manic and numb - one of the reasons I slice my arm in the first place is that I'm coked to the gills on something utterly wrong for what I have.”

“This was the time when all we could talk about was sentences, sentences—nothing else stirred us. Whatever happened in those days, whatever befell our regard, Clea and I couldn’t rest until it had been converted into what we told ourselves were astonishingly unprecedented and charming sentences: “Esther’s cleavage is something to be noticed” or “You can’t have a contemporary prison without contemporary furniture” or “I envision an art which will make criticism itself seem like a cognitive symptom, one which its sufferers define to themselves as taste but is in fact nothing of the sort” or “I said I want my eggs scrambled not destroyed.”At the explosion of such a sequence from our green young lips, we’d rashly scribble it on the wall of our apartment with a filthy wax pencil, or type it twenty-five times on the same sheet of paper and then photocopy the paper twenty-five times and then slice each page into twenty-five slices on the paper cutter in the photocopy shop and then scatter the resultant six hundred and twenty-five slips of paper throughout the streets of our city, fortunes without cookies.”