Frankly, the image of his father wearing bell-bottoms, smoking a joint, and calling his mother a “totally groovy chick” was wrong on so many levels he wanted to erase the whole thing from his memory

Don't take this next undercover assignment. Stay with me instead." Nick's eyes pierced hers, refusing to let her off that easily. "Tell me why." "Because... I love you." She exhaled. No take-backs. The words were out there forever. And it felt great.

What exactly was your plan here, Mr. Andrews? To just walk in and flash your little smile, no questions asked?

You’re not pathetic. Actually, I envy you a little.” “Because I’m a mess?” Zach asked dryly. “No. Because you’re not afraid to be a mess.

His eyes held hers. “Because I knew, ten seconds after walking into this office and meeting you, that we had this in the bag.

You probably should get back out there. You’re ignoring your other guests.” “Screw them.” “I’m sure that many of them, you already have.

Well, Ma, see... there's this girl." Silence. He checked to make sure the call hadn't been dropped. "You still there, Ma?" A sniffle. "You can't be crying already," he said. "I haven't told you anything about her yet." "It doesn't matter, Nick," his mother said through her tears. "Those are the three words I've been waiting thirty-four years to hear.