Who's that little brunette?" Suzanne asked. "I hate little petite types. Gregory doesn't look right with someone petite. Little face, little hands, little dainty feet." "Big boobs," Beth said, glancing up.

Quick, how do you pick up a cat?" "Buy her a drink.

You've changed," he said. "You're-uh-" "Yes?" "Taller." "I hope so. I was ten the last time you saw me." "And your hair's really dark now-and short," he added.

...you canʹt always choose how you love a person. Love isnʹt logical or fair. It just happens.

You fell in love with me?

Sometimes I think that love is one big fairy tale. I wonder if people who say they are in love, if – really – they’ve just talked themselves into it. They want it so badly, they kind of make it happen. They fake it until they start believing their own story. Maybe that’s just sour grapes or something. Maybe because it doesn’t happen to me, I don’t want to think it happens to anyone else.

Fix yourself something to drink," she said. "I don't have any Mr. Pepper." "You mean Dr. Pepper?" "For the love of God!" She exploded. "People expect everything from a psychic! 'Doctor,' 'mister,' I was close enough. I didn't call it 'Mrs. Salt,' did I?