“I have been advised to try to find one redeeming quality in him to focus on. So far, the only thing I can think of is that he is breathing. But even that is questionable, because he is very likely a zombie or some other form of the undead.”

“He said, “So . . . do you like music?” It was a pretty stupid question. I mean, who doesn’t like music? Okay, maybe some puritanical zealot out in Hicksville. But really. It was kind of like asking, “Do you like food?” “Isn’t oxygen great?” “Have you got skin? I do.” I knew what he meant, though.”

“So he likes being mean to you. And you like that he likes bean mean to you.And I like being mean to him too.”

“I guess what I’m trying to say is, you just can’t tell who you’re going to end up with. You might spend your whole life dreaming about one type of person, only to find happiness with somebody completely different. Someone you figured you had nothing in common with just might turn out to be your dream guy. And you know he’s your dream guy because you become a better person. He brings out all these great things in you that you never knew or believed were there. And if you’re really lucky you do the same for him. It makes it even more incredible that people find each other, considering most of them are looking in the wrong places to begin with.”

“She set her hands neatly in her lap. “But you just said he liked you.” “No, I said he enjoys my company. That is, he enjoys hating me. Or pretending to hate me. I don’t know which. But I’m finding it difficult to completely dislike someone who gets pleasure from having me around. ...“So he likes being mean to you,” she said. “And you like that he likes being mean to you.” “And I like being mean to him, too, don’t forget.” “Of course not. Pleasure from meanness. There’s a name for it: sadomasochism.”

“So he likes being mean to you," she said. "And you like that he likes being mean to you.""And I like being mean to him, too, don't forget.""Of course not. Pleasure from meaness. There's a name for it: sadomasochism.""Thanks a lot." I said. "That's just what I need. A mental picture of Todd Harding laced up in a black leather bodysuit with a whip in one hand and his wang in the other.”

“Johnny made me feel like I was clever without trying to be. And pretty. And valued. He made everything about me seem more special.Like, say I was a song. Well, Johnny made me feel as though I’d been remixed. The melody didn’t change, but it wasn’t just the same one-dimensional sequence of notes anymore. Instead, he brought out all these harmonies — these low and high notes — that made the music fuller. No more discord or dissonance. Around Johnny, I was the best possible rendition of myself.”