“What's a slut?" I ask him."A girl who puts out too easily.""Puts out what?" I imagine Greer putting out dinner and don't understand what Iwan wouldn't like about that."Puts out, you know..." His face, already beet red from our run, turns a darker scarlet. "Sex."I wonder where Greer puts the sex out.”

“I couldn't tell anyone how I felt because I knew they wouldn't understand. Oh, poor little Christina, falling for the bad man who treats her like dirt because she didn't know any better. And isn't it a pity that they don't still teach sex-ed in schools? Or, oh, Christina, that filthy slut, if she puts out for a man like that, I imagine she puts out for anyone. You stay away from her. It wasn't like that at all. Maybe it would have been easier if it was, just like ticking a box. Are you the Madonna, or the whore? The victim, or the vixen? The Sabine, or the skank?But nothing in life is ever that simple.”

“Running is the greatest metaphor for life, because you get out of it what you put into it. ”

“But what would happen if I put on the ring?” the boy asked.“There is only one way to find out.”

“One thing that struck me early is that you don’t put into a photograph what’s going to come out. Or, vice versa, what comes out is not what you put in.”

“I won’t put up with a woman who tries to put me down. But I might put out if she lets me put it in.”