“Hell, Tate hadn't been to church in so long, he even wasn't sure they still held it on Sundays.”

“He held out the hand that wasn't holding up the blankets, palm out. 'OK,' he said. 'OK, think, Collins, think - yeah, OK, this is awkward, and I'm really sorry, because I'm sure you're really - Oh, man. What the hell did I do? Was there drinking? There must have been drinking.”

“It's so crude' complained her mother, who believed in Good Taste the way Sunday worshipers believed in the Immaculate Conception. She wasn't quite sure what it was but she was sure it was important.”

“And he couldn't know because he hadn't been left with an unkeepable promise, because he wasn't me.”

“He was thirty-one now, not too old, but old enough to be lonely. He hadn't dated since he'd been back here, hadn't met anyone who remotely interested him. It was his own fault, he knew. There was something that kept a distance between him and any woman who started to get close, something he wasn't sure he could change even if he tried. And sometimes in the moments right before sleep came, he wondered if he was destined to be alone forever.”

“He had plans all right, he thought as Sarah trotted off. To eat crow.He wasn't sure what it tasted like, but he already knew he wasn't going to enjoy it. He walked around to the office, knocked. He supposed if he'd been wearing a hat,he'd have held it in his hands.”