“Remorse, etymologically, is the action of biting again: that's what the feeling does to you. Imagine the strength of the bite when I reread my words. They seemed like some ancient curse I had forgotten even uttering.”

“People say, "Reality bites!" I hope you don't wait until it bites you because when it does, it hurts like hell.”

“What does it feel like to be infected?""I-- I can't describe it." I force the words out. Can't breathe, can't breathe, can't breathe. His skin smells like smoke from a wood fire, like soap, like heaven. I imagine tasting his skin; I imagine biting his lips. "I want to know." His words are a whisper, barely audible. "I want to know with you.”

“What?""That's sweet."I am sweet. My heart flip-flops and I bite my lip a little bit. Sweet as in a lollipop, or sweet as in a girl you wold like to kiss passionately in the stacks? That's the question.”

“There are some feelings, and actions, for which words are utterly useless.”

“Scoot over, man. I don't like you that much." "Dick. That's not what you said last night.""Bite me.”