“Not that I did, bang her that is. I’m not saying I wouldn’t, how could I ever be sure about something like that?”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be finished. No matter how much I write, there will always be something I should’ve said.”

“How many ways can I say “I love you”? I could say it in another language, like French. I could say it through action, like a kiss. Or I could say it indirectly, like telling your best friend, April. Yes, I think I’m ready to tell April I love her.”

“I have a problem. I wouldn’t say I’m in a pickle. More like a vinegarized cucumber.”

“She told me she loved me. Most men wouldn’t know how to respond, but I did. What else could I say but, “Thanks, Grandma!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. Work, my dear Blushweaver, is like fertilizer.”“It smells?”He smiled. “No, I was thinking that work is like fertilizer in that I’m glad it exists; I just don’t ever want to get stuck in it.”