“Well shit! If she’s dead, how can I have a bitch smackdown with her?”

“I can claim copyright only in myself, and occasionally in those who are either dead or have written about the same events, or who have a decent expectation of anonymity, or who are such appalling public shits that they have forfeited their right to bitch.”

“And when she [her daughter] one day turns on me and calls me a Bitch in front of Hollister, Give me the strength, Lord, to yank her directly into a cab in front of her friends,For I will not have that Shit. I will not have it.”

“No, you started this shit. I don't know how they do it in Rhode Island, but here in Jersey, bitches get stitches for talking shit and fucking with something they shouldn't.”

“How are you?” Charlie asks. She’s turned to me wearing this grave expression, her features all set in a row. I expected her to be pissy about my being nonresponsive all weekend, or at least about my being late this morning, but if she is, she’s not acting like it.“Um, fine. Are we going?”Charlie glances back at Olivia.“He’s an asshole,” Olivia says.“She’s a bitch,” Charlie says.”

“I love her.” “She’s dead.” “That doesn’t mean to me what it does to other people.”