“I want to get you out of here.""Don't you mean you want me to get you out of here?"He took my hand—yeah, my hand again. I was liking this. A lot. "No, I mean I want to get you out. This shouldn't be your life. You deserve a lot more. Like a locker.""And a driver's license?""Let's not get carried away.”

“She grinned. "Don't you want to build a huge interstellar spaceship, load it full of videogames, junk food, and comfy couches, and then get the hell out of here?" "I'm up for that, too," I said. "if it means I get to spend the rest of my life with you.”

“I want to get out of here means I want to be innocent.”

“Twentyone is too old to go anywhere alone, you know that. I want to go with someone. I don't mean as a bride, I'm not so gauche as that, but as a mistress or paramour or concubine or companion or friend or pal or anything else. I just don't want to be left alone! I want to get out of here!" She said it again for all the wide-faced flowers to hear: "I want to get out of here!”

“He takes out a cigarette and offers one to me. "I try not to indulge. It's a filthy habit," I tell him. "I love that word filthy. I love the way you force it out of your mouth like it's some kind of vermin you want to get rid of." "You've had vermin in your mouth?" "You're mean in that way, you know. You don't let anyone get away with pathetic analogies.”

“I can count on that? That you'll get out of here? Because you look an awful lot like you're about to go cowboy again on me, Iceman. More than you already have, and I can't accept that.”