I think I missed my window." "What window?" "My get-a-life window. I think I was supposed to figure all this stuff out somewhere between twenty-two and twenty-six, and now it's too late.

You're wearing at least four different kinds of sweater." "This is a scarf." "You look tarred and sweatered.

The me that's me right now is yours. Always.

Drunk nerds. Not my thing.” “You like nerds.” “Not nerds who join fraternities,” Cath said. “That’s a whole subclass of nerds that I’m not interested in.

She heard the very beginning of a smile in his voice--a fetal smile--and it very nearly killed her.

There’s no such thing as handsome princes, she told herself. There’s no such thing as happily ever after.

I object to every single thing you just said.