Walter had said, dear God, Thomas, it was St fucking Felicity if I'm not mistaken, and her face was to the wall for sure the night I got you.

We cannot both be right: you must judge between us.

I am no milky, modest, obedient youth, Constance. […]

[P]ut on your schlubbiest clothes, dab on some pimple cream, and go to the grocery store. […] Don't start your days in the hole. Besides, you never know when the new Mr. Right will come along. …