"you're going to astral project and fly right out of your body? I thought it was the type of skill that takes people whole lifetimes to perfect."
"I won't know until I try." I took off my shoes and jacket, removed my holster, loosened my tie and sat down on the bed.
"Do you want a drink? Something weak, like a hard lemonade."

"you're going to astral project and fly right out of your body? I thought it was the type of skill that takes people whole lifetimes to perfect."
"I won't know until I try." I took off my shoes and jacket, removed my holster, loosened my tie and sat down on the bed.
"Do you want a drink? Something weak, like a hard lemonade."

"It is Joseph's opinion that he open his Bar Mitzvah speech 'with a few laughs to loosen them up'- more specifically, that worn-out routine chronicling Moses' descent from the mountain with the Ten Commandments, concluding with the epigram 'Adultery's still in.' Given the manner in which the two of them recited the punch line in unison, I gather that Mr. Banks and your son are a well-suited match. So, however, are Laurel and Hardy." - Rabbi Morris Lieberman

3. How old was Noah when God gave him the job?
76.
600.
Says who? And how come God thought an old fart like that could build a boat? He'd be lucky if he could still pee.

"Dear Aunt Carrie and Mrs. M,
Hazel did some nosing around and found out that there are 19 million kids in the U.S. of A. Only 10 of them are going to the W. House today. You can do the math yourself on account of I would not get near long division with a 10 ft. pole. But if you tell people that he is one in a million, you would be pretty close to the mark.
Charlie

"Aren't you going to ask me why Saxton and I were never going to work?"
Qhuinn rolled his eyes, "I know it wasn't problems in the bedroom. you're the best lover I've ever been with, and I can't imagine my cousin felt any differently."
Fucking cocksucking son of a bitch Saxton.
As he realized the other guy wasn't saying anything Qhuinn glanced over. Blay's blue eyes had an odd light in them.
"What." Oh for God's sake. "Fine. Why wouldn't it ever work out?"
"Because I was, and I remain, utterly and completely and totally... in love with you."
Qhuinn's mouth dropped open. As his ears began to hum, he wondered if he had heard that right. He leaned in closer. "I'm sorry, what did you-"
"Hey, baby," a female voice cut in. "How would you like a partner in crime-"
"Back off," Blay barked. "He's with me."
Abruptly, Qhuinn's spine straightened: It was amply clear from the cold blue fire spitting out of Blay's eyes that the guy was prepared to tear the throat of that woman wide-open if she didn't disappear quick.
And that was...
Awesome.

Jennifer to Beth: I need a break from Mitch. He's still in a funk about our successful use of birth control.
Beth to Jennifer: Can't. I'm finally going to see Eyes Wide Shut.
Jennifer to Beth: Ech. I don't like Tom Cruise.
Beth to Jennifer: Me neither. But I usually like Tom Cruise movies.
Jennifer to Beth: Me, too... Huh, maybe I DO like Tom Cruise. But I hate feeling pressured to find him attractive. I don't.
Beth to Jennifer: Nobody does. It's a lie perpetuated by the American media. Tom Cruise and Julia Roberts.
Jennifer to Beth: Men don't like Julia Roberts?
Beth to Jennifer: Nope. Her teeth scare them.

That night, Lincoln got an email from Dave saying that Saturday's D&D game was off. One of their kids had rotavirus, which Lincoln had never even heard of. It sounded awful. He pictured a virus with rotating blades and an engine.

There are moments when you can't believe something wonderful is happening. And there are moments when your entire consciousness is filled with knowing absolutely that something wonderful is happening. Lincoln felt like he'd dunked his head into a sink full of Pop Rocks and turned on the water.

"I sleep, Mom."
"During the day. We're meant to be awake with the sun, soaking up the vitamin D, and sleeping at night, in the dark. When you were a little boy, I wouldn't even let you sleep with a night-light, do you remember? It interferes with the melatonin production."

He was still holding the end of her scarf, rubbing the silk idly between his thumb and fingers. She watched his hand.
If he were to look up at her now, he'd know exactly how stupid she was. She could feel her face go soft and gummy. If Park were to look up at her now, he'd know everything.
He didn't look up. He wound the scarf around his fingers until her hand was hanging in the space between them.
Then he slid the silk and his fingers into her open palm.
And Eleanor disintegrated.

Park was the only person she knew who wore his backpack actually on his shoulders, not slung over one side - and he was always holding onto the straps, like he'd just jumped out of a plane or something. It was extremely cute. Especially when he was being shy and letting his head hang forward.
She pulled the front of his bangs.
He smiled, all shiny cheeks and full lips.
Don't bite his face, Eleanor told herself. It's disturbing and needy and never happens in situations, comedies, or movies that end with big kisses.
"I'm sorry about yesterday." she said.
He hung onto his straps and shrugged.
"Yesterday Happens."
GOD, it was like he wanted her to eat his face clean off.

"You always look nice."
"I never look nice." she said. Like he was an idiot.
"I like the way you look," he said. It came out more like an argument than a compliment.
"That doesn't mean it's nice," she was whispering, too.
"Fine then, you look like a hobo."
"A hobo?" Her eyes lit.
"Yeah, a gypsy hobo," he said. "You look like you just joined the cast of Godspell."
"I don't even know what that is."
"It's terrible."
She stepped closer to him. "I look like a hobo?"
"Worse," he said. "Like a sad hobo clown."
"And you like it?"
"I love it."
As soon as he said it, she broke into a smile. And when Eleanor smiled, something broke inside of him.
Something always did.

Park ran his hand out to her hip and back again, catching his thumb under her sweater. She swallowed and lifted her chin.
He pulled her sweater up farther and, then, without thinking about why, he pulled up his shirt, too, and laid his bare stomach against hers.
Eleanor's face crumpled, and it made him come unhinged.
"You can be Han Solo," he said, kissing her throat. "And I'll be Boba Fett. I'll cross the sky for you."

Nothing was dirty. With Park.
Nothing could be shameful.
Because Park was the sun, and that was the only way Eleanor could think to explain it.

"What if I promise not to touch you?"
"Cath laughed. "Now I have zero incentive to come."
"What if I promise to let you touch me first?"
"Are you kidding? I'm the untrustworthy person in this relationship. I'm all hands."
"I've seen no evidence of that, Cath."
"In my head, I'm all hands."
"I want to live in your head."

"The Stork Lord- is that what the media's calling him now?"
"No. It's my own term of endearment," Hayden admits. "But if they did start calling him that, I'm sure Starkey would love it. I'll bet he'd build himself an altar so that the common folk may worship in song and sacrifice. Which reminds me- I've been toying with the idea of an appropriate Stork Lord salute. It's like a heil Hitler thing, but with the just the middle finger. Like so." He demonstrates.

When he finally did end the kiss, pulling slowly away and letting go of Sam, he couldn't catch his breath. He stood there panting into Sam's face, unable to make himself move more than an inch or two. He needed to keep that mouth nearby. It was some kind of national treasure only Ian knew about.

"What was it like, coming out to your family?"
Sam blinked. "I never came out to my family."
Ian pulled away and peered at him more intently. "They don't know?"
"Of course they know! Sheesh. I mean I never had to tell anyone. It was sort of just... general knowledge." Sam thought about it while Ian laid his head back on the pillow they were sharing and nuzzled at his cheek. "Well, I guess I told my grandma."
"What did she say?" Ian murmured.
"I got to the part where I was telling her, 'Grandma, I like boys,' but she interrupted me and said, 'What kind of fool do you think I am? We had fancy boys back in my day. I know one when I see one.'"
Ian laughed so hard Sam was torn between squirming pleasure at having amused him and indignation at being the subject of his laughter. Squirming pleasure won when Ian wrapped his arm tighter around Sam and squeezed him against his chest, saying into his ear, "You're so cute."

"That is a noble idea, though I think it far to generous," Jupiter said. "Once a decade should be sufficient."
"I would rather be too generous than not in such cases."
"As you wish."
[One day, Atticus was amazed to discover that when Jupiter said, "As you wish," what he really meant was "I love you."]
*for those that don't recognize it, this is a joke with The Princess Bride.

I found a black Havana shirt and jeans and declared myself satisfied.
Granuaile's eyes roved up and down. "Mmm. Druid is the new black," she said.
"Did you just make a yummy sound?"
[Yes, and I would like to point out that she didn't do that when you were nude.]

She smiled at me and leaned in for a quick kiss. We decided, however, to give it an extended run.
[Oh barf! Human mating habits. If this was a movie, I would skip to the next scene.]
You're supposed to be asleep.
[Well, I would be, except that there are these people mashing their faces together in front of me.]

"Congratulations. You're a jaguar."
Granuaile's joy at this news elicited an extremely loud roar, startling Oberon and me and the surrounding woods into silence.
[I think every creature near enough to hear that just pooped,] Oberon said, [and then it went into hiding. Hunting tip number one: Stay silent.]

We failed miserably to find any dik-daks, but Oberon wasn't the least bit disappointed. He was highly amused by the entire trip, because Granuaile kept sneezing and didn't get used to her new sense of smell. She'd always been a bit sensitive to odors; her first exposure to demons had caused her to retch miserably for ten minutes. Once we passed near an impressive pile of rhino feces, she gagged and tried to run away from it, but her gagging turned the normally smooth mechanics of a jaguar into a jerky, trembling dance. Oberon chuffed so hard he fell over and pawed helplessly at the sky.
[You know, I've basically been bored for three months while Granuaile was getting bound, but now I'm good. I feel repaid. Never thought I'd see a jaguar brought to it's knees by rhino shit. And it probably dumped that there when she roared.]

"Silence is the perfectest herald of joy," I said.
[Perfectest? Can I get a ruling on this?]
I was quoting Shakespeare, Oberon; therefore, it's allowed.
[That guy gets away with everything! Too bad he didn't live long enough to enjoy it. He'd go up to people and say, "You look like your father, and he had a face like a poxy tit! I'm Shakespeare, so that's allowed."]

"Is it twilight?"
"Dusk," he said.
She glanced at him. Wasn't twilight the same as dusk? And how did he manage to drawl such a brief little word? Dusssk. Like the word could go on all day.

"Aria," Perry said. He surprised himself by using her name. He decided it suited her. There was a curious sound about it. Like her very name was a question.

Roar leaned across the table and smiled at her seductively, his dark hair falling into his eyes. "When you say everything happens in the Realms, do you mean everything?"
Aria laughed nervously. "Yes. Especially that. There are no risks in the Realms."
Roar's smile widened. "You simply think it and it happens? And it actually feels real?"
"Why are we talking about this?"
"I need a Smarteye," he said.

"The boy who was taken," She said. "Is he your son?"
"How old do you think I am, Dweller?"
"I'm a little shaky on the fossil record, but I'd say fifty to sixty thousand years."
"Eighteen. And no. He's not my son."

"Stay away from them," Sam said, not unkindly, "or I will fuck you up."
"Yikes," Adam said. "You almost gave me a heart attack - until you added that last 'up'."

"I've got three weeks and I'm going to spend them with you. And after that, I'm going to say some things that'll really scare the hell out of you, and one of them's going to be a demand that you don't hook up with anyone else while I'm away."
"Demand?" Adam repeated.
"I was going to say request," Tony told him, "but I thought demand would make you get all oppositional, and up in my face. I love it when you do that, baby. It's incredibly hot."

"Are you in love with me?"
And there. It was out there. I was admitting nothing myself but it had to be obvious that I was asking for a reason. That I wanted her to say yes. I needed her to say she loved me.
Then I would be a bit safer when I fell.

"...called nine-one-one," Howie was saying, "and then I heard something in the alleyway, so I went back there and" -Howie coughed- "and valiantly attacked his knife with my guts, to no avail."
"Did you get a good look at him? Could you describe him?"
Howie smiled wanly, "Yeah. He was about yay long," -he held up his hands, four inches apart- "thin, made of steel. Pointy. Sharp."
Jazz grinned despite himself.

Is this a dream? he thinks, the words coming to him slowly, thickly, as if from a great distance. The last dream before death.

I patted my horse's neck. Her name was Sugar and she had come from the Keep stables. She was a Tennessee Walker, smart and calm, with high endurance. I liked her color too-she was a red roan of such a pale shade, she almost looked pink.
Kate smirked.
"What?"
"Your horse looks pink."
"So?"
"If you paste some stars on her butt, you'll be riding My Little Pony."

I knew what waited behind the door. Raphael and his mother. A few members of Clan Bouda. Kate and Curran. My friends, my alpha, my mate, and the new future. For once, I wouldn't have to hide who I was.
I opened the door.

Nick peeked over at him. He'd expected loose dance clothes like last night, but Adam wore dark jeans and a red T-shirt under a charcoal gray pea coat. He had a messenger bag, too, beat-up brown leather that looked like it would explode from the weight of whatever was inside. His expression was easy, but his eyes were cautious.
When he spoke, his voice was gently teasing. "Do I pass muster?"
Nick jerked his eyes away. "You look great. Good. Yeah. Fine."
Jesus, was he going to sound like a raving idiot every time he saw this guy? Me Nick. Me like boys. Me especially like how you look in that pea coat.

"Is this where you bring girls? Promise to show them the world?"
He waved a hand at the trees, the suburban sprawl. "Oh, yeah. Check out the world of Arnold, Maryland." He let out a low whistle. "You can almost see the waste disposal plant from here. Want to take your pants off yet?"

He wasn't what I would call handsome, at least not conventionally. His face, when he wasn't smiling, had a pensive, ominous cast to it, but as soon as he grinned the severity melted into an airy radiance that made me want to touch his chest and feel his heartbeat.

I'd never had the urge to touch anybody's chest, but Paul was so animated and energetic, I imagined a metrical, pumping drum pounding in place of a heartbeat, and I wanted to feel the rhythm. I wanted to merge with it. I wanted to be it.

Eliza has the sky in her eyes and I've always wanted to touch the goddamn sky.

After licking his neck, I wanted to dive into his throat and slide down his esophagus and swim around inside his hands while he strummed.

Gansey's delight was infectious and unconditional, broad as his grin. Adam tipped his head back to watch, something still and faraway around his eyes. Noah breathed woah, his palm still lifted as if waiting for the plane to return to it. And Ronan stood there with his hands on the controller and his gaze on the sky, not smiling, but not frowning, either. His eyes were frighteningly alive, the curve of his mouth savage and pleased. It suddenly didn't seem at all surprising that he should be able to pull things from his dreams.
In that moment, Blue was a little in love with all of them. Their magic. Their quest. Their awfulness and strangeness. Her raven boys.

Blue had been staring at Gansey in a way that was more conspicuous for the fact that she was trying to be inconspicuous about it. It was equal parts startled and impressed. It was true that Gansey rarely wore jeans and a T-shirt, preferring collared shirts and cargo pants if he wasn't in a tie. And it was true he wore them well; the T-shirt hung on his shoulders in a way that revealed all kinds of pleasant nooks and corners that a button-down usually hid. But Ronan suspected that Blue was most shocked by how it made Gansey look like a boy, for once, something like one of them.

Orla tossed her head, her magnificently large nose describing a circle in the air. Then she tore off her bell-bottoms so fast that all the boys in the boat just stared at her, dazzled and stunned. Gansey couldn't understand the speed of it. One moment, she was wearing clothing, and the next moment, she was wearing a bikini. Fifty percent of the world was brown skin and fifty percent was orange nylon. From the Mona Lisa smile on Orla's lips, it was clear she was pleased to finally be allowed to demonstrate her true talents.
A tiny part of Gansey's brain said: You have been staring for too long.
The larger part of his brain said: ORANGE.

There are three kinds of secrets. One is the sort everyone knows about, the sort you need at least two people for. One to keep it. One to never know. The second is a harder kind of secret: one you keep from yourself. Every day, thousands of confessions are kept from their would-be confessors, none of these people knowing that their never-admitted secrets all boil down to the same three words: I am afraid.

We're going to change the world. It doesn't matter that we've already done that more than once. All that means is that we need to work harder to do it again.

"You both get out okay? 'Cause if you didn't, Doctor C says I can maybe field-test my new rocket launcher, and that would be boss. So I'm totally down with you saying you're hiding in a storm drain right now, waiting for a coincidentally convenient rescue."

Love me once to lose me twice;
Learn to take your own advice.
Try to love the darkness if you want to reach the light.
Know your quest but leave your name.
I will love you all the same.
There's beauty in the starkness of this never-ending night.

The broken doors are open, and they yearn to bring you home.
My darling boy, be careful now, and don't go out alone.

Names were labels for things, the killer knew. Nouns. Person, place, thing, idea-just like you learned in school. See this thing I drink from? I give it the label of "cup," and so what? See this thing I cover my body with? I give it the label of "shirt," and so what? See this thing I have opened to the darkening sky, allowing beautiful moonlight to shine within? I give it the label of "Jerome Herrington," and so what?

There was a slight chance that Gramma's crazy would complement New York's just fine, but he wasn't going to bank on it. Images of Gramma attacking tourists capered in before his mind's eye, and he could almost hear her shrieking, "Tell that bitch to stop staring at me!" while pointing at the Statue of Liberty.

So... I guess you have to ask yourself, young samurai, how far would you be willing to go to stop Saint John if he was coming after you and yours? How scary are you willing to be in order to take the heart out of the enemy? Are you willing to be the monster in the dark? Are you willing to be the boogeyman of their nightmares? If you can look inside your own head and see the line that you won't cross, the limit that's too far, then I can guarantee you Saint John will win. No question about it."

Forget about Smith and Jones; they were Butts and Goodnight, and if that didn't sound like a vaudeville team she didn't know what did.

"I don't expect much," he murmured, staring at the ceiling while he stroked her hair. "At the end. If remorse is a requirement for redemption, then I'm not there. I don't imagine I ever will be. All I can offer is... revenge, maybe, and retribution. I can offer restraint-unless you're threatened, and then all bets are off. But I don't feel remorse. Some people need killing, and I did the job. So... this life with you is probably all I'll have, but it's enough, sweetheart. It's enough."

If things went my way, I would be working at a renaissance fair as a falconer. I wouldn't have to worry about climbing career ladders or getting promotions, because falconry's not like that. Either you're a falconer or you're not. Either the birds come back to you or they fly away.

I used to think maybe I wanted to become a falconer, and now I'm sure of it, because I need to figure out the secret. I need to work out how to keep things flying back to me instead of always flying away.

When he gets nervous his voice squeaks. It isn't funny but it makes me grin just the same.

"Hey, Trav?" I murmured, chin-in-the-necking him while I played with his hair. "What do you call it when there's a smile in your stomach that starts when you wake up in the morning and doesn't go away until you're asleep?" Travis sighed audibly in my arms before glancing up from my chest in wonder.
"You mean you have one of those too?"
Flora was right. It's a quiet thing.

--The pills were just a precaution, in case her hormones overruled her gray matter. Such a silly thing had never happened before, but then she had never before practically had a meltdown at the sight of a man's sticky-out part, either.

--She turned her face into his throat and inhaled the heat and scent of his body, thinking that if the perfumers of the world could bottle whatever it was Sam had, the female population would be in a perpetual heat.

He rolled over, his face now inches from mine.
I moved my head away. "Get away from me, I stink."
"You don't stink. You smell like Perry."
"That's gross."
"Baby, I could drown in your scent."
I looked at him askance and saw the gravity in his hooded eyes. He was totally serious.
"But," he went on, voice low and rough, "if you need to get clean from head to toe, I'm offering my tongue."

"I am saying a larger brain comes with a price. Our better instincts are oft put down by our reason."

"Will Henry is my assistant, Sergeant Hawk; his services are indispensable to me."
"What kind of services might those be?" He was having some difficulty picturing it.
"Of the indispensable variety."
"He'll slow us down."
"No more than standing on a sidewalk holding a pointless debate, Sergeant."

"Henry? Why did you go somewhere you clearly had no business being?"
"Lilly..."
"Lilly! What- did she bop you over the head with a chair and carry you down to the Monstrumarium?"
"She said she wanted to show me something."
"A word of advice, Will Henry. When a person of the female gender says she wants to show you something, run the other way. The odds are it is not something you wish to see."

She straightened her hat, and said with a laugh, "See? I knew you would say that. You're so damned predictable that I wonder how I ever thought I loved you."
"Millions love the sun. The sun is predictable."
"Was that an attempt at humor?"
"I was merely being logical."
"You should take care with that, Pellinore. Your logic may kill someone one day."
She was pressed between the divan and Warthrop. As she stepped to one side to make her escape, he shifted with her, blocking the way.
"What are you doing?" She demanded.
"Acting unpredictably."

"What, don't you like women?" He ribbed, giving me a wink.
The doctor pursed his lips sourly. "As a man of science, I have often thought that, for the sake of accuracy, they should be classified as a different species altogether- Homo enigma, perhaps."

He held my hand with his other one and grinned at me, our faces so intoxicatingly close that he grazed the top of my head with the felt brim of his hat. I kept my eyes on those cocoa brown orbs of his. It wasn't hard.
And then... then he started singing along with Joel's voice. Softly, quietly. I was such a sucker right there and then and he knew it, that bastard.

I knew from experience that you weren't supposed to trust the guys you thought were as sexy as hell.
Dark, brooding and mysterious? Handle with care.

Not to mention that she's beautiful, sexy and charming. You know it, I know it, and soon everyone else will know it. The only person who doesn't know it is her because of archaic fuckheads like yourself telling her otherwise.

"I knew I was dead. I knew I was dead before I started to feel everything start to go wrong in my body. Because I'd been to the hospital for just one sting, and this was, like a hundred. They were in my hair. They were in my ears, Blue."
She asked, "Where you scared?"
He didn't have to answer. She saw it in the hollow of his eyes.
"What happened?"
"I died," he said. "I felt my heart stop. The hornets didn't care. They were still stinging me, even though I was dead."
He exhaled slowly. "I heard a voice. It was a whisper. I won't forget what it said. It said: 'You will live because of Glendower. Someone else on the ley line is dying when they should not, and so you will live when you should not.'"
Blue was very quiet. The air pressed on them.
"It was not a hallucination."
This was the Gansey who had written the journal. The truth of it, the magic of it, possessed her.
She asked, "And that's enough to make you spend your life looking for Glendower?"
He didn't look at her. He replied, voice terrible, "I need to, Blue."

Adam's face melted into a grin, an expression so unlike his usual one that his features needed to completely shift to accommodate it. "So you don't do anything quiet, do you?"
The way he said it, she could tell that he was impressed with her in the way that men were usually impressed with Orla. Blue very much liked that, especially since she hadn't had to do anything other than be herself to earn it. "Nothing worth doing."
"Well," he said, "I think you'll find I do pretty much everything quiet. If you can be all right with that, I guess we'll be fine."

He was still looking at her through the hole, the stone making a strange eyeglass. She watched his throat move, and then, he reached out and touched her face.
"You sure are pretty," he said.
"It's the stone," she replied immediately. Her skin felt warm; his fingertips touched just the very edge of her mouth. "It's very flattering."
Adam gently pulled the stone out of her hand and set it on the floorboards between them. Through his fingers he threaded one of the flyaway hairs by her cheek. "My mother used to say, 'Don't throw compliments away, so long as they're free.'" His face was very earnest. "That one wasn't meant to cost you anything, Blue."

The little bird felt like she weighed nothing at all, and her skin and feathers felt humid where they'd been in contact with Ronan's hands. The raven tipped her huge head back and goggled at Blue and then Adam, beak cracked.
"What's her name?" Blue asked. Holding her was frightening and lovely; she was such a small, tenuous little life, her pulse tapping rapidly against Blue's skin.
Adam answered witheringly, "Chainsaw."
The raven opened her beak wide, goggling even more than before.
"She wants you again," Blue said, because it was clear that she did. Ronan accepted the bird and stroked the feathers on the back of her head.
"You look like a super villain with your familiar," Adam said.
Ronan's smile cut his face, but he looked kinder than Blue had ever seen him, like the raven in his hand was his heart, finally laid bare.

"Bloo-OOOO-oooooo, my child, come in here!"
This was Maura's voice, and the sing-song rhythm to it was highly ironic. With a sinking sensation, Blue followed it into the living room, where she found Maura, Calla and Persephone drinking what Blue suspected were screwdrivers. When she walked into the room, the women all looked up at her with indolent smiles. A pack of lionesses.
Blue raised her eyebrows at the cocktails. The morning light through the windows turned the drinks a brilliant, translucent yellow. "It's only ten o'clock."
Calla reached out, enclosing Blue's wrist with her fingers, and dragged her onto the mint green love seat. Her glass was already mostly empty. "It's a Sunday. What else would we do?"
From her blue striped chair across the room, Maura sipped he screwdriver and made a wild face. "Oh, Persephone. You make them with FAR too much vodka."
"My hand always slips," Persephone said sadly from a wicker bench in front of the window.

"Shhh," he told her, silencing her with a kiss. "That's for the future, okay? Right now, let's just show our baby how much her daddy loves her mommy."

There's nothing wrong with you." Tracy said again. "Except for the fact that your inner prude has been shouting at you for years, telling you that you're screwed up. You've got to bring the logical part of your brain into the mix. Because how can there be a right or a wrong way to have sex? I mean, psycho-killers aside, there's just NOT. The only question that you need to be worried about is 'Honey, do you like it when I do that?' If the answer's yes, game on."

Tracy would've completely rocked his world with the kind of physical sex that was meant to exhaust-to wear out and wear down. At which point she also would have convinced him beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was not just okay but NECESSARY for a man to cry over the painful, horrible death of his best friend in the entire fucking world.

"I'll be with Tess. She says we're a team, too. It's funny, she used that same word." He nodded. "I guess I'm going to find out if she means it."
"She does," Robin said, and Jules turned to look at him. He was standing there looking like the movie star that he was, with his casually covered muscles and that almost too-beautiful face that still often graced magazine covers. "She loves you, Jim. Unconditionally. I know because..." He smiled at Jules, "I've got someone who loves me like that, too."
Jules looked at Sam, who was shaking his head.
"You know, Rob, you are sometimes just so fucking gay," he said, "Ow!"