“Noble words, my friend; you can't drink them or wrap them around your feet or burn them in your firepit or give them to children crying in hunger......They will cry for a month, then they will eat his share of the food. And wouldn't he want it that way?”

“I tell me:Let these words be footsteps, because I have a long way to travel. Let the words walk the dirty streets. Let them make their way across the crying grass. Let them stand and breathe and pant smoke in winter evenings. And when they're tired and have fallen down, let them buckle to their feet ad arc around me, watchful.I want these words to be actions.Give them flesh and bones, I say to me, and eyes of hunger and desire, so they can write and fight me through the night.”

“He told you not to cry, but tears keep leaking out of your eyes. And you're glad, because those tears belong to you. They're yours. Your tears. He can't have them. He can't touch them. They're all yours. (182)”

“If you aren't willing to face your demons-if you can't find the courage to take on your fear and hurt and anger-you might as well wrap them up with a bow and give them to your children. Because they will be carrying the same thing...unless you are willing to do the work”

“and your thighs. I can't wait to feel them wrapped around me.”

“The only way to cry your eyes out and laugh your ass off at the same time is to have your mom or girlfriends present. Without them, the laughing part wouldn't be nearly as fun.”