“So, you really think…” Dylan’s voice trailed off as soon as he saw me. His eyes moved up and down my entire body, staring at me like I was a meal. “Wow. You look… great.”

“Do you really like Quincy or are you just saying that?" I asked.Dylan held up his index finger and finished swallowing his toast. He looked alarmed by my question. "Quincy is fine. Why would I mind Quincy?""I don't know. I mean, don't you have a preference as to where we live?"Dylan shook his head. "Not really. As long as I'm living with you, I could care less. I'd live in a closet with you for Christ's sake.”

“Excuse me," he greeted, smiling. "I'm sorry to bother you, but do either of you know how to get to the Nokia Theater?""Absolutely," Dylan chimed in. "That street right there is forty-second." He pointed to the right of where we were sitting. "You want to follow that for another four blocks and then turn right when you see Yangsoon's Kitchen. Then you want to go up another two blocks and bang a left at Starbucks. You'll see the theater up on your right after the big McDonald's sigh. You can't miss it."The man put the newspaper he was holding under his arm and extended his hand out to shake Dylan's. "Thank you sir. I really appreciate it. "He turned and scrambled off at lighting speed.I peered at Dylan suspiciously. "You don't really know how to get to the theater, do you?"His face remained blank as he shook his head."Not a clue.”

“So, Buckley, huh?" he asked, pulling away from me. "You think he deserves that much credit?""Well, he did bring us together and all," I said."Oh, is that what brought us together?" His brown crinkled together. "I thought it was that ten minutes of unprotected passion in a cheap Manhattan hotel room.""I'd give it six at most.”

“Along with the punctuality gene, the liar gene had skipped out on me as well. I was officially the world's worst liar. I could've won and award for it. Whenever I tried to mimic a serious expression, I ended up looking like I was half-retarded”

“You love him, don't you?""That's an impossible question to answer.""No it isn't," she argued. "It's a simple yes or no. You either love someone or you don't.""I don't know. Maybe.""Renee, maybe is not an acceptable answer. That's like saying you're a little bit pregnant and or caught a touch of breast cancer. Deep down, you know whether or not you love someone.”

“I hated the term "heartbroken." It was such an understatement. "Broken" typically implied you were talking about something you could put back together. Or replace. My heart didn't feel like it was broken. It felt like it had been tossed into the blender and liquidized at 180 MPH.”