“Then there were things-- epic, terrible things-- that he didn't tell her but skirted around, like caressing the edges of a wound, hesitant, testing for pain.”

“Well he didn't treat my mother very well. He did some horrible things.""Like..." I hesitated. "Blood-whore things?""Like beating-her-up kinds of things" he replied flatly."Oh God," I said "That's horrible. And she...she just let it happen?""She did." The corner of his mouth turned into a sly, sad smile. "But I didn't""Tell me, tell me you beat the crap out of him"His smile grew, "I did.”

“But if it couldn't be love and it didn't feel like lust, what was it? Like? Did he like her? Of course, he did, but that word didn't capture his feelings, either. It was a little too... vague and soft around the edges. People liked ice cream. People liked to watch television. It meant nothing, and it didn't come close to explaining why, for the first time, he felt the urge to tell someone the truth...”

“He gathered a handful of her hair, then wound it around his fist and drew her closer until their faces were inches apart. He hesitated for several heartbeats, then settled his lips against hers, tested the angle, readjusted. He was moderately controlled until he heard a small whimper from her. He backed off, looked down into her eyes, and recognized a desire that equaled his own.Control was abandoned. He covered her face with wild, random, artless kisses and she was doing the same to him. Then mouths melded and tongues touched, and they kissed with carnal greed.”

“In fact, the thing Lorraine and I liked best about the Pigman was that he didn't go around saying we were cards or jazzy or cool or hip. He said we were delightful . . .”

“There's no such thing as 'epic love'. But there is such a thing as 'epically bad decisions based on something believed to be love, but is most likely lust.”