“And then suddenly I would realize that I couldn’t remember, hadn’t actually consciously experienced, any of the last forty-seven properties I had visited, and didn’t know if I had left a paper or just walked up to the door, stood for a moment like an underfunctioning automaton, and turned around and walked away again. It is not easy to describe the sense of self-disappointment that comes with reaching the end of your route and finding that there are sixteen undelivered papers in your bag and you don’t have the least idea—not the least idea—to whom they should have gone. I spent much of my prepubescent years first walking an enormous newspaper route, then revisiting large parts of it. Sometimes twice.”

“I don't know how easy that would be but I'd try just to lead an ordinary life again. Stay out of the papers.”

“Greg stands up, wiping his mouth. "I saw your mother's trial in the paper, Sharpe. I know you're just like her."

"If I was, I would make you beg to blow me," I sneer.”

“I’ve been wandering around all night—I couldn’t sleep—and I kept finding myself walking here. To you.”

“I see you around sometimes and my heart just melts.
You're looking like if you had your wish, you'd be somewhere else.
And it just breaks my heart to see you here this way.
Someday I'll get the nerve to walk up to you and say
This is the last worthless evening that you'll have to spend.
Just gimme a chance to show you how to love again.”

“I couldn’t remember the last time I had stayed up into the squeaky hours of the night because I couldn’t put a book down, and that was a tragedy.”

“She reaches under and grabs my peech and like, squeezes it and walks away. I run over to Brooke and go "Your mother just molested me. I could sue you and own this house!"”

“It was only when you walked away I saw you had the perfect ass. Forgive me for not falling in love with your face or your conversation.”

“We were walking
Just the other day.
It was so hot outside,
You could fry an egg.
Remember you were talking,
I watched as sweat ran down your face.
Reached up and I caught it at your chin,
Licked my fingertips.”

“In Prague, big red posters were put up on which one could read that seven Czechs had been shot today. I said to myself, 'If I had to put up a poster for every seven Poles shot, the forests of Poland would not be sufficient to manufacture the paper.”