I want to be sitting in front of my computer, where you can press a button to block out your junk mail. These two are my junk mail.

...what was it like out there? Kind of describe it to us," Jessa says, beaming at them and then at me. Trini beams at her and there's a lot of beaming happening.

These people have history and I crave history. I crave someone knowing me so well that they can tell what I'm thinking. Jonah Griggs takes my hand under the table and links my fingers with his and I know that I would sacrifice almost anything just to keep this state of mind, for the rest of the week at least.

It’s Tolstoy, by the way,” I say as I open the door. He turns around. “What?” Shut up, I tell myself. Shut up. “The writer of Anna Karenina. Not Trotsky. Trotsky was a revolutionary who was stabbed with a pickax in Mexico in 1940. But I can understand how the T thing could confuse you.

You're judging her by her literacy,' Tara says. 'You're a literacist.' 'You've made that up.' Thomas Mackee packs up his stuff and stands up. 'You chicks give me the shits,' he says. 'You, on the other hand, brighten up our day,' I tell him. 'We all regard you as a god.

She asked me what type of contraceptive I use. Underwear. Keeping it on prevents pregnancy.

I fear that I will do something to bring harm to those I love," Froi said. "So I follow their rules to ensure that I won't." "But what if you bring harm or fail to protect those you don't know? Or don't love? Will you care as much?" "Probably not." "Then choose another bond. One written by yourself. Because it is what you do for strangers that counts in the end.