I raised my hands, trying to shush her. "Don't shush me," she said, eyes blazing. "I hate being shushed.

IMBECILE!" the chef shouted. "Next time why don't you just put your whole HAND in the food, hey? Yes, your whole hand, or maybe your FACE! I arrange the food on plates with care, are you understanding what I am telling you? It is part of the art form of cooking, yes? A lovely plate of food is a thing of beauty! And then you, NUMBSKULL, come along and put your fat greasy FINGERS all over my plate, and SHAKE the plate, and move my food all around the plate until it looks like pigs' vomit!" "Chef Vlad!" I cried out in delight.

You're like something drawn with the sun's fire, and I can take only little glimpses of you.

It was as though, in one moment, he had become a stranger. And I a stranger to myself.

Honestly," she sighed, "I don't know what kind of life we'll have together, with me always flying off in one direction and you in the other." I smiled. "It's a good thing the world's round," I said.

It's the way you look whenever she mentions her fiance. My cat looks like that before he hacks up a hairball.

If my heart were a compass, you'd be North.