Rachel delivered it like an official pronouncement. Like she was one of the fairies gifting Sleeping Beauty's christening: Beauty. Intelligence. Heterosexual.

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

The only thing worse than opera is someone who hums along with opera.

How did people get over this? They obviously did. Every day someone fell in love with the wrong person and had to pack up all their fragile, misguided hopes and unwanted affection, and move on to the next picnic table.

Tiffs among the faggots were apparently the stuff of quiet merriment.

I’m never wrong? Who besides Republican presidents and evil masterminds can say that with a straight face?

I love you," Jake whispered. "Are you strong enough for this?" I made myself comfortable. Said over my shoulder, "Sure." "Would you tell me if you weren't?" I grinned. "Maybe. I can't think of a nicer way to commit suicide." "That's good. I can't think of a more pleasant way to commit murder.