When I meet someone I like being with more than I like being alone, I'll marry her.

Then he continues his rant,saying, "And even if I didn't know them, I know their type." "And what type is that?" she asks,leaning foward in her chair,yearning for confirmation that he gets it,that they are like-minded in their observations of others and the circumspect way they view the world. "Oh,let's see," he says,rubbing his jaw. "Superficial.Artificial.Sheep. They're more worried about how they come across to others than who they really are.They exhaust themselves in their pursuit of things that don't really matter.

Sweetened ice tea is one of the things I love about the South, right up there with homemade biscuits and cheese grits.

Don't you wish we could pick the people we love?" "Yeah," I say. "Or just make the people we love want the same things we want.

Throw in the intensity of emotions that come with that bittersweet summer sandwiched between high school graduation and the rest of your life.

Even if we no longer have much in common, we would have always had the past, which, in some ways, is just as important as the present or future. It is where we come from, what makes us who we are.

Then he asks if he can kiss me. It is a question I don’t usually like. Just do it, I always think.