“Faron didn’t answer, just picked up his rant where he’d left off. “I wish I didn’t have a dick. Ever since I fell through that hole in God’s pocket, I think I’ve subconsciously wished I had something else down there. LIke... fuck, I don’t know... an ice cream machine or something.” Greg snorted into surprised laughter. “you kind of already do. Although it’s more like a yogurt maker.”

“As soon as I saw that doll all splotched with mud, I saw myself, saw how soiled I was. Or thought I was. From that minute on, I felt liked I'd slipped through a hole in God's pocket. Just took a dive right into the dirt and was lost forever."Greg kissed Faron's hair. "You never hit the dirt. You just slid from one pocket to another. That's what I did too - I took a journey I was meant to take. I know that now."Absorbing this, Faron slanted a puzzled look at Greg. "Which pocket do you suppose I landed in?""This one. The one we're in together. The one I believe we'll stay in."Faron felt a thrill of optimism in his heart. "I never thought of it that way.""I never did either. Until today." Greg once again settled onto Faron's chest. His cheek moved noticeable into a smile. "God isn't small, honey. God has a lot of freakin' pockets. And we just found the one we belong in.”

“Why?" she screamed. "Are you crazy? You know the English subjunctive, you understand trigonometry, you can read Marx, and you don't know the answer to something as simple as that? Why do you even have to ask? Why do you have to make a girl SAY something like this? I like you more than I like him, that's all. I wish I had fallen in love with somebody a little more handsome, of course. But I didn't. I fell in love with you!”

“If I had three magic wishes, I’d use the first wish for one more, to replace the one I just wasted wishing for something I already had.”

“I didn’t want to be in love with you. I didn’t want to believe in love at all. It’s never happened to me before. And to be perfectly frank, I’m still not entirely happy about the whole thing. I think—it’s going to be exhausting. You’re domineering and devious and I’ve noticed that whenever we’re not kissing, I wish we were.” Her voice had grown nearly plaintive; she stopped and cleared her throat. “It’s a damnable situation. I don’t know what to do about it.” He eyed her from the chair. “I’m pigheaded, too. Pray don’t forget that.” “Certainly not. It was the next thing I was going to mention.” “My sweet, your notion of love is unique, to say the least. I wonder that you haven’t written me sonnets already. Something like ‘Ode to the Blackguard.”

“I was trying to feel some kind of good-bye. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I hate that. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-bye or a bad good-bye, but when I leave a place I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t you feel even worse.”