Silently the animal catches our glance. The animal looks at us, and whether we look away (from the animal, our plate, our concern, ourselves) or not, we are exposed. Whether we change our lives or do nothing, we have responded. To do nothing is to do something

I can't even say 'hair pie,'' I told him, 'unless I'm talking about an actual pie made out of rabbits.

I put my hand on him. Touching him has always been important to me, it was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches, my fingers against his shoulder, the outsides of our thighs touching as we squeeled together on the bus. I couldnt explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes I imagined stiching all of our little touches together. How many hundreds of thousands of fingers brushing against each other does it take to make love?

It seems entirely possible to me that horrible things can be going on without us becoming horrible people.

Food is not just what we put in our mouths to fill up; it is culture and identity. Reason plays some role in our decisions about food, but it's rarely driving the car.

I wondered, for the first time in my life, if life was worth all the work it took to live. What exactly made it worth it?

I wasn’t having second thoughts, but I was having thoughts.