“She was pretty, yeah, but pretty like hundreds of other girls. You," he dabbed the bread in the air as if sketching her, "you're...memorable. Who you are just shines through your face.”

“She refused to be one of those girls who fell for a pretty face that just white-washed a total jack-ass underneath. She could ogle, but she would not fall until she knew he deserved her.”

“He turned to face her again, his late-pretty composure crumbling. "But you're...""Pretty? Think again." She smiled. "I'm Tally Youngbood. My mind is very ugly. And I'm taking your car.”

“You're a very pretty girl...Did you know? Once upon a time, I had a pretty, pretty boy.' She reached forward and touched my cheek with one manicured hand.”

“Are you serious?" She asked. "Are you telling me you've got superpowers? 'Cause that'd be pretty much be made of awesome." She grinned at me and shook in her excited, trembly way."Um. Yeah. Kind of. I mean, I'm just learning how to use them, and they're kind of fickle--but they came in handy tonight, didn't they?""Heck, yeah, they did!" April squealed. "Did you see the look on that guy's face when he hit the ground? Seriously, that was the coolest thing ever. He was all like, 'come here defenseless little girl,' and you were like,'BAM! Take that suck-face! I've got superpowers!”

“Anybody can look at a pretty girl and see a pretty girl. An artist can look at a pretty girl and see the old woman she will become. A better artist can look at an old woman and see the pretty girl that she used to be. But a great artist-a master-and that is what Auguste Rodin was-can look at an old woman, protray her exactly as she is...and force the viewer to see the pretty girl she used to be...and more than that, he can make anyone with the sensitivity of an armadillo, or even you, see that this lovely young girl is still alive, not old and ugly at all, but simply prisoned inside her ruined body. He can make you feel the quiet, endless tragedy that there was never a girl born who ever grew older than eighteen in her heart...no matter what the merciless hours have done to her. Look at her, Ben. Growing old doesn't matter to you and me; we were never meant to be admired-but it does to them.”