“He’s jealous of you.” “Is that right?” “Of course! Because no matter what he does, when he puts on your shorts and one of your bras, he never looks as cute in them as you do.”

“He's not doing anything he shouldn't be doing, right?" "Like what?""Like hitting on you.""Ew. No, of course not. He doesn't see me that way." Michael shook his head and went back to his coffee."What? You think he does?""Sometimes he looks at you a little... oddly, that's all. Maybe you're right. Maybe he just wants you for your blood.""Again, Ew! What's with you this morning?""Not enough coffee.”

“He’s been looking out for your heart since the day he met you, holding it in those massive bloody hands of his and making sure no one hurts it. He would do anything for you, you know that, right?”

“Do you think he's cute?"I rolled my eyes. "He's a god, Mom. Of course he's cute.”

“Do you know,' he said again softly, addressing his hands, 'what it is to love someone, and never - never! - be able to give them peace, or joy, or happiness?'He looked up then, eyes filled with pain. 'To know that you cannot give them happiness, not through any fault of yours or theirs, but only because you were not born the right person for them?”

“So I didn't adopt Homer because he was cute and little and sweet, or because he was helpless and needed me. I adopted him because when you think you see something so fundamentally worthwhile in someone else, you don't look for the reasons - like bad timing or a negative bank balance - that might keep it out of your life. You commit to being strong enough to build your life around it, no matter what. In doing so, you begin to become the thing you admire.”