“He snuffles. Oh, no.He's not going to cry, is he? Because even though it's sweet when guys cry, I am so not prepared for this.Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.”

“Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.”

“Don't leave me," he whispers. "Oh for crying out loud-no! I am not going to go!" I shout, and it's cathartic. There, I've said it. I am not leaving.”

“Fraugh!” cried the sleeper, as though he suddenly understood all.“Braugh!” he cried, not liking at all what he suddenly understood.“Sup-foe!” he said, saying in no uncertain terms what he was going to do about it.“Floof!” he cried.”

“I am so tired of the girl in the infirmary, I am so sick of the girl who cries wolf all the time - even though not one of those cries was ever a false alarm. Not one of my pleas was ever less than truly urgent because when it's all in your mind, there always IS a wolf.”

“I am crying, he thought, opening his eyes to stare through the soapy, stinging water. I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater. But he wasn't crying. Curiously, he felt too depressed to cry. Too hurt. It felt as if she'd taken the part of him that cried.”