“There's no boot."No boot?"No."That makes me sad."I ate it."You ate the boot?"Yes."Was it good?"No. Were the cigarettes good?"No. I couldn't finish them."I couldn't finish the boot.”

“Good night, Seth.""So you're running again, then?" One of his boots thudded on the floor."I'm not running."The other boot hit the floor. "Really?""Really. It's just—" She stopped; she didn't have anything that would finish that sentence and be honest. "Maybe you should slow down, so I can catch you." He paused, waiting.”

“I almost vomited in the boot! I was just about to vomit in the boot! Can you imagine how upset I would have been?”

“But the truth is, I want to be some woman's work boots, not her high heels.""Work boots?" What was sexy about that? And did women have work boots?"Yeah. You know, the boots she pulls out when she wants to get down and dirty, hiking or gardening or boating or painting the kitchen. The ones she relies on and trusts and lives her life hard and good and on her terms in. Her favorites.”

“All you need to get to heaven is a good pair of boots.”

“If you are boot out, do not go to boot hill.”