I want people to react to my work, to think, to question, to challenge, to cry and laugh and feel.

Kit, you're forty. You look thirty. You act...well, never mind. You're carrying on like you think you're seventy

And I thought maybe I didn't need to worry about my heart anymore because it had stopped beating a couple of seconds earlier, and I was still sitting there living and breathing-though admittedly I wasn't feeling much of anything.

You don't look so hot, Adrien." "Yeah, well I'm having a bad heart day." His upper lip curled in a semblance of a smile. "Tell me about it.

...Jake, a homosexual cop buried so deep in the closet he didn't know where to look for himself.

And why is it the best looking ones are always straight?

He shifted over without comment, lifting the blankets, and I scrambled into the warm sheets beside him. He smelled like soap and sleep and bare skin. He smelled familiar. Not the deja vu familiar of Guy or Mel. Familiar like...the ache in your chest of homesickness, of longing for harbor after weeks of rough seas or craving a fire's warmth after snow--or wanting back something you should never have given away.