“Kid,” Richard said wearily, “I am not in the mood. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, my sister’s crazy–”“Hey!” Monica protested.“–and you’re not my high school crush–”“He is not my high school crush, Richard!”“The point it, I couldn’t give a crap about you, your friends, or your problems, because for me this isn’t personal. Monica will kill you because she’s nuts. I’ll kill you because you make me kill you. Are we straight?”“Well,” Shane said, “That’s kind of a personal question.”

“What’s with her?” says the painter. “She’s mad because she’s a woman,” Jon says. This is something I haven’t heard for years, not since high school. Once it was a shaming thing to say, and crushing to have it said about you, by a man. It implied oddness, deformity, sexual malfunction. I go to the living room doorway. “I’m not mad because I’m a woman,” I say. “I’m mad because you’re an asshole.”

“You are not my high school crush, idiot.”“Great. I can die happy, then.”

“Sir Richard sighed. "Rid yourself of the notion that I cherish any villainous designs upon your person," he said. "I imagine I might well be your father. How old are you?""I am turned seventeen.""Well, I am nearly thirty," said Sir Richard.Miss Creed worked this out. "You couldn't possibly be my father!""I am far too drunk to solve arithmetical problems. Let it suffice that I have not the slightest intention of making love to you.”

“Still bitter I see. Don't be mad at me because your husband found me attractive. Instead of wondering why I slept with your husband. You should ask your husband why he slept with me.-Monica, Flirting with Temptation”

“The bulls are my best friends."I translated to Brett."You kill your friends?" she asked."Always," he said in English, and laughed. "So they don't kill me.”