In fact, he sorely hoped that it would happen, because otherwise, the world made no sense, there was no justice, and life was just a tangled ball of chaos.

All killer whales are named Kevin. You knew that, right?

Words, words, words, a million million words circle in my head like hawks, waiting to dive onto the page to rend and tear the only two words I want to write. Why me?

Love: the sickest of Irony’s sick jokes. The place where logic and order go to die.

Science, you don't know, looks like magic.

It’s like he has this power over me—like I have an eating disorder and he’s a package of Oreo Double Stuff cookies.

If they'd been dogs, they would have all been in the yard eating grass and trying to yak up whatever was making them feel so lousy. Not a bone gnawed, not a ball chased-all tails went unwagged. Oh, life is a fast cat, a short leash, a flea in that place where you just can't scratch.