“I like a woman with meat on her bones." She laughed. "My hips express their deepest appreciation, Major Winslow.”

“How do I look at her?"Mason laughs. "Like you're a starving dog and she's wearing a skirt made of meat.”

“She was widely read enough to appreciate my literary wit but not so widely read that she knew my sources. I like that in a woman.”

“The beauty myth sets it up this way: A high rating as an art object is the most valuable tribute a woman can exact from her lover. If he appreciates her face and body because it is hers, that is next to worthless. It is very neat: The myth contrives to make women offend men by scrutinizing honest appreciation when they give it; it can make men offend women merely by giving them honest appreciation. It can manage to contaminate the sentence "You're beautiful," which is next to "I love you" in expressing a bond of regard between a woman and a man. A man cannot tell a woman that he loves to look at her without risking making her unhappy. If he never tells her, she is destined to be unhappy. And the "luckiest" woman of all, told she is loved because she's "beautiful," is often tormented because she lacks the security of being desired because she looks like who she lovably is.”

“Danicka asked where you were. I told her you and Colin were taking a long lunch eating- something she and her friends might want to take up since -clearly- Colin is a man, and men like meat, dogs like bones.”

“I hold myself supremely blest -- blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband's life as fully as he is mine. No woman was ever nearer to her mate than I am: ever more absolutely bone of his bone and flesh of his flesh.”