I mean, if your about to tell me something like I'm dead, that i need to start acquiring a taste for blood, and I can't even eat sushi, I wont be able to handle it. Or if you're going to tell me that I'm going to start howling at the moon, eating peoples cats, and will spend the rest of my life having to get waxed if I want to wear a bathing suit, then I don't think I can handle it, either. I like cats and I tried waxing once, and that hurt like a son of a gun." -Kylie

She's a serial kisser. I think her parents are French.

Change his mind. Tell him you're sorry you grilled his shorts." That you're sorry you've got ice running through your veins .

That’s the tricky thing about love. It walks like a duck, quacks like a duck, and smells like a duck. But after you sleep with it a month or so, or get dumped at the altar by it, it starts smelling more like a skunk.

As Kylie buried her head on the camp leader's shoulder, she heard Burnett scold, "I thought I told you to wait at the camp." Kylie felt Holiday tense at the reprimand, and then she raised her head. "And I thought you knew I don't follow anyone's orders." "Does anyone listen to me around here?" Burnett asked, his frustration making his tone sound almost comical. "Obviously not," one of the FRU agents said, and chuckled.

You couldn't always control life, just your response to it.

But I have to go. Thank you, Kylie Galen. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for teaching me to think beyond myself. Thank you for everything.