“Then they took us to the birthing suite, which I call the electronic bullshit room because it's full of all sorts of electronic bullshit we can't fathom but are just glad to have on principle.”

“I am not ready to think of him as either insane or evil, to consider in full how I could love and have a child with such a person. I am not ready to think about anything, except ways in which this may still be averted.”

“Today I bought my first issue of Modern Bride Magazine, the November issue. I have it right here. I ordered a year's subscriptioin, using the 1800 number and not the business reply mail card. Your Dream Dress (It's Here!)50 Romantic Honeymoons - From Sweet to Sexy12 Reception Hints You Can't Overlook6 Real Bridal Makeovers with Expert Tips for YouI discover that holding the magazine makes me anxious. I put it down. I am wondering if there is a way to make me over and, if so, will I be able to be made back.It strikes me that I am going to have to have a wedding. And it is going to have to be perfect, according to this magazine. There are 12 reception hints I can't overlook. And that's just the tip of the bayonet. My gut feeling is, My GOD, haven't I done enough?”

“I remember one desolate Sunday night, wondering: Is this how I´m going to spend the rest of my life? Marrid to someone who is perpetually distracted and somewhat wistful, as though a marvelous party is going on in the next room, which but for me he could be attending?”

“How do you know? How best to ensure his nervous breakdown?" I ask."Keep going," Christian says. "Just go on as if nothing has happened. We all hate that.”

“I know now with blind certainty that no matter what, eventually marriage is just two financially interdependent strangers staring across the kitchen table at each other. They have backpacks slung across their bodies, containing their sexual and romantic history and unresolved issues and family memories. And there´s nothing but cold cereal, because the days of flaky croissants and foamy cappuccino are over. Reality reclines on top of the refrigerator, leering down with a wry yet tender expression. And one day it all just collapses and the backpacks are hauled away to another kitchen table.”

“I have a new mantra, which I chant softly to myself: "Oh My God Oh My God.”