I've been poked and prodded in places I'd always prided myself on keeping untouched for that one special doctor who gives me a ring and a promise someday.

She holds up a finger. "I'm getting to it. Don't rush a girl in the middle of her exposition.

All the small, simple, conscious acts of living a sudden defense against the dying we do every day.

You can’t blame a fella for kissing the prettiest girl in New York, can you, sister?” Sam’s grin was anything but apologetic. Evie brought up her knee quickly and decisively, and he dropped to the floor like a grain sack. “You can’t blame a girl for her quick reflexes now, can you, pal?

You are truly Satan's sequined spawn.

You know what else is hot?" said a nameless blonde as she put her arm around the one black girl. "What?" "Bisexuals." "Totally. Well, not like real bisexuals who are just sort of your everyday people, but, like, the kind of bisexuals you see in magazines wearing nothing but body paint and kissing both boys and girls to promote a new single." "Totally, totally hot.

What do you feel? I’ve never been asked this question once. None of us has. We aren’t supposed to feel. We’re British.