“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.”

“I'm supposed to quote myself? Seriously? I know I'm a clever wench, but modesty muffles my ego.”

“I'm miles from where you are. I lay down on the cold ground, and I pray that something picks me up, and sets me down in your warm arms.”

“I'm miles from where you areI lay down on the cold groundAnd I, I pray that something picks me upAnd sets me down in your warm arms.”

“I know you're angry and I know that it'll take work, but I just want you to try. To give getting through my fuck-ups together a chance. I need to know that you can give a shit about me again.”

“I’ve heard of barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen, but I think I like this better.”