“That's clear about the end of my other life, how I kept saying 'I can do this' even when I knew I couldn't, even when I knew I was fucked, I was dead ass fucked in the pouring rain. ”

“A good writer knew when not to write. Anybody could type. Not that I was a good typist; also I couldn't spell and I didn't know grammar. But I knew when not to write. It was like fucking. You had to rest the godhead now and then.”

“There it is! Done! And you didn't even have to fuck me.”He stared at me.“But you can still fuck me if you want to,” I offered.He kept staring at me.“Like now. Fucking me now would be good,” I prompted.He kept staring at me.“Hello?...Calling Kai Mason, girlfriend needs a good fucking, right...about...now.”That's when he spoke.And this is what he said.“God, I love you.”

“Immigants! I knew it was them! Even when it was the bears, I knew it was them.”

“I don’t even know what to say.” Aeron.“I do. Fuck.” Paris.”

“If I kept saying it; if I kept reaching out. My accident really taught me just one thing: the only way to go on is to go on. To say 'I can do this' even when you know you can't.”