Why was it that jam always coated me so?

She says you're not truly human until you've had your heart broken and you've broken someone's heart.

And if I didn’t, I’d spend the rest of my life wondering who I could have turned into if only I’d had the guts to try.

Every fairy tale, it seems, concludes with the bland phrase "happily ever after." Yet every couple I have ever known would agree that nothing about marriage is forever happy. There are moments of bliss, to be sure, and lengthy spans of satisfied companionship. Yet these come at no small effort, and the girl who reads such fiction dreaming her troubles will end ere she departs the altar is well advised to seek at once a rational women to set her straight.

Why was it that jam always coated me so?

When you don't talk, there's a lot of stuff that ends up not getting said.

Everyone's scared. So scared they can't sleep sometimes. Or eat. Or keep their weight on." "Then why bother playing?" I asked. It was a whisper, this question. "Because. You love the game. You love the people you play with. You love winning, maybe. You love that one moment when you get it right . . . I dunno. Why do you play?" "Because," I whispered, "it's who I am." Sounds like a good reason to me.