“On the ground, Cash gave a signal, and all the guys lined up by the pool. In unison, they stripped off their shirts and tossed them onto the grass. An audible sigh- like the ones you hear on a sitcom that is "filmed in front of a live studio audience"- filled the room. It was almost funny, really. Such a strong reaction to a bunch of shirtless boys.”

“It was almost funny, really. Such a strong reaction to a bunch of shirtless guys.”

“Funny how mishearing things-or not hearing them at all-can really screw things up”

“Who would I kill?” I asked, sitting up from him, wiping my face.“Who?”“Yeah, I mean, is it random, or do you choose them?”“Well.” He grinned and picked an ant off the rug, then tossed it onto the grass. “I usually avoid eating comedians as much as possible.”“Why?” I asked slowly.“Because they taste funny.” His brows rose. I imagined a tumbleweed rolling past as I listened for crickets. “That wasn't funny.”

“bringing up children was]like living with a bunch of drunks...you really have to be on your toes all the time.”

“Like everyone else, I am going to die. But the words - the words live on for as long as there are readers to see them, audiences to hear them. It is immortality by proxy. It is not really a bad deal, all things considered.”