“She shook her head. "I'm not leaving him. And I'm out here waiting only because I was making him crazy. The sight of me... isn't good for his mental health at this moment. I'm hoping that's no longer true after he breaks this second treadmill.""Second?""I'm pretty damn sure that flapping and the smell of smoke about fifteen minutes ago meant he ran one of them into the ground.""Damn.""Yup.”

“Can we go back to the part where you're in love with me?""No, because I'm not anymore. I've come to my senses.""That's a damn shame, that is. You'll have to wait here a minute. There's something I need from inside.""I'll not stand out here. I'm going home.""I'll only come after you, Brenna," he called over his shoulder as he walked to the door.”

“You do trust him, though, Giddon?""Holt, who is stealing your sculptures and is of questionable mental health?""Yes.""I trusted him five minutes ago. Now I'm at a bit of a loss.""Your opinion five minutes ago is good enough for me.”

“I'm with him because when I'm with him, I'm free to be me. I'm with him because he's hot. I'm with him because he lets me blather, since I'm prone to blathering, and he lets me rant when I have a bad day. I'm with him because when I rant, he makes me feel better and he does this effortlessly. I'm with him because I live for the times when I'm on the back of his bike and we're riding together, not even talking, just being free.”

“Well, I'm not here to impinge on anybody else's lifestyle. If I'm in a place where I know I'm going to harm somebody's health or somebody asks me to please not smoke, I just go outside and smoke. But I do resent the way the nonsmoking mentality has been imposed on the smoking minority. Because, first of all, in a democracy, minorities do have rights. And, second, the whole pitch about smoking has gone from being a health issue to a moral issue, and when they reduce something to a moral issue, it has no place in any kind of legislation, as far as I'm concerned.”

“Do you need someone to talk to?" she said gently. "Oh. Thank you. No, no, I'm fine." He touched his face – he'd been crying harder than he'd realized. "You sure? You don't look fine." "No, really. I've just . . . I've just had a very intense emotional experience." He held out one of his iPod headphones, as if that would explain it. "On here." "You're crying about music?" The woman looked at him as if he were some kind of pervert. "Well," said Duncan. "I'm not crying about it. I'm not sure that's the right preposition." She shook her head and walked off.”