“One day, while at the drugstore picking up some aspirin for my Mom, dear old Mrs. Burns, our pharmacist, shoved a pack of condoms into my hand with a conspiratorial wink."They glow in the dark," she whispered.This, from a sixty-five year-old granny, I kid you not. Stuff of nightmares.”

“Live like [me] for seventeen years and you either start seeing boys as chocolate-covered French éclairs on legs, the kind packing a thousand calories apiece, strictly hands-off, or you stop seeing them at all.”

“Picture this: possible boyfriend X takes normal girl versus freak girl, namely me, home to meet his mother. After a handshake, normal girl comments, Oh, what a pretty manicure, Mrs. X. My comment? After I wipe away the foam at my mouth, and I'm finally done convulsing, Mrs, X, you'll die in a car crash two weeks from today. You may as well take care of the arrangements because I'm never wrong. And we live happily ever after? Fat chance.”

“How could you be watching me the whole year?" I asked, sensing my eyes bulging, but unable to control it. "I think I would've noticed."His smile widened. "What, you mean, since you where always checking me out?”

“Elementary, my dear Watson.""That's a misquotation, by the way," I countered without thinking. Which might've made more of an impact if I'd stopped grinning like a cretin."See? Ten minutes and you already know I read Sherlock Holmes. Just imagine what you could discover if we went out on a real date.”

“He lowered his mouth to mine anyway, close enough that our lips almost brushed for a millisecond before his glided across my cheek, his breath laying a fiery trail from the corner of my mouth to my ear."I'm not going to kiss you, Lily," he whispered. "I'm patient. I'll wait until you want it bad enough."[...]"You'll be asking for it soon," he added. "No hesitation.”

“This is the stuff dreams are made of, right?"I could've pointed out the misquotation; everybody goes for Humphrey Bogarst's famous like from The Maltese Falcon, when the words actually are "We are such stuff as dreams are made on" and they belong to Master Shakespeare, but you know what? With all due to respect to the women's movement, the fact is that, on rare occasions, silence really is a girl's best garment.So I just smiled instead.”