October, baptize me with leaves! Swaddle me in corduroy and nurse me with split pea soup. October, tuck tiny candy bars in my pockets and carve my smile into a thousand pumpkins. O autumn! O teakettle! O grace!

You flirt with everything." She could tell that her eyes were popping-- her eyeballs actually felt cold around the edges. "You flirt with old people and babies and everybody in between.

Take your vitamins. Don't drink vodka. Get used to empire waistlines.

Don't make me angry-kiss you.

It’s not my job to want you or not want you. It’s not my job to earn you.

He looked exactly like a rat. Like the human being version of a rat. Like the villain in a Don Bluth movie.

Eleanor,” he said, just because he liked saying it, “why do you like me?” “I don’t like you.” He waited. And waited… Then he started to laugh. “You’re kind of mean,” he said. “Don’t laugh. It just encourages me.