I don't know, but I think it's going to be good.

Sydney had been horrified to discover my home library consisted of a bartending dictionary and an old copy of Esquire, and at her pleading, I'd promised to read something more substantial. I was trying to think deep thoughts as I read Gatsby, but mostly I wanted to throw some parties.

You said you were a victim. That's why...that's why ultimately, you and I aren't matched for each other. In spite of everything that's happened, I've never though of myself that way. Being a victim means you're powerless. That you won't take action. Always...always I've done something to fight for myself...for others. No matter what.

Well, I guess I can wait two weeks then." "for what?" "to ask her out

Sage," he said. "What are you wearing?" I sighed and stared down at the dress. "I know. It's red. Don't start. I'm tired of hearing about it." "Funny," he said. "I don't think I could ever get tired of looking at it.

You forgot another lesson: Never turn your back until you know your enemy is dead. Looks like we’ll have to go over the lesson again the next time I see you—which will be soon. Love, D.

I want her to be happy. It's worth sacrificing myself.