…kissing George was a little like rolling in caramel after spending years surviving off rice sticks.

I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.

Light is good company, when alone; I took my comfort where I found it, and the warmest yellow bulb in the living-room lamp had become a kind of radiant babysitter all its own.

You're the perfect girl', he said, rubbing his chin. 'You expect nothing.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing; it's rejuvenating.

But I loved George in part because he believed me; because if I stood in a cold, plain room and yelled FIRE, he would walk over and ask me why.

That's the thing with handmade items. They still have the person's mark on them, and when you hold them, you feel less alone. This is why everyone who eats a Whopper leaves a little more depressed than they were when they came in. Nobody cooked that burger.