And then I did what I had never done in his presence, much less in his arms. I cried.

But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked. “Make me”, I replied. “Beg pardon?” “Make me”, I repeated. Her eyes widened like saucers. “You mean like incest?” she asked. “Don’t give me your family problems, Jen. I have enough of my own.” “Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?” “The ‘right things’”, I said. “What’s wrong with the ‘right things’?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.

And then I did what I had never done in his presence, much less in his arms. I cried.

I think the Peace Corps is a fine thing, don't you?" he said. "Well," I replied, "it's certainly better than War Corps.

Sometimes I ask myself what would I be if Jenny were alive. And then I answer : I would also be alive." - Oliver.

True love comes quietly, without banners or flashing lights. If you hear bells, get your ears checked.

Quiet heroism or youthful idealism, or both? What do we know? That life without heroism and idealism is not worth living - or that either can be fatal?