“Look at me, man, look at me and tell me I don't know what I'm about. I'm Conor Larkin. I'm an Irishman and I've had enough.”
“Don't tell me what I'm doing; I don't want to know.”
“I'm thirty-six, and I'm in love for the first time. I don't know what that says about me. Maybe that I've waited for you all my life.”
“I'm sure. But it doesn't work with me. for one thing, you won't look me in the eye. As for the other...I don't know. I can just tell.”
“Don't say it. Don't say nobody's going to stare at me, because they will. Don't tell me it doesn't matter because it does. And don't tell me I look fine because that's a lie. I'm a freak, Mom. Look at me.”
“Hey, look at me! Look at me! Look at me! And...look at me. Will he think I'm sexy enough? Will he find me wholesome enough? Am I fuckable? Is he allergic to feathers?!”