“When a woman grabs my braids and says "How cute!" I crab her breast and say "How cute!" She never touches me again!”

“Oh, man. You’re him. The cute and brooding vampire boyfriend.”
“She said I was cute and brooding?” I asked. “Never mind. Why can’t I reach her? Where is she?”

“If she's cute, sweet but bitchy and complicated, she's the woman you fall in love with.”

“I'm a godmother, that's a great thing to be, a godmother. She calls me god for short, that's cute, I taught her that.”

“If I hold her hand she says, ‘Don’t touch!’
If I hold her foot she says ‘Don’t touch!’
But when I hold her waist-beads she pretends not to know.”

“Nobody taught me how to say no when a beautiful naked woman begs me to take my clothes off.”

“Say me aye," he whispered against her mouth. "Say me aye."

How could she say anything else?”

“When you go to a country, you must learn how to say two things: how to ask for food, and to tell a woman that you love her. Of these the second is more important, for if you tell a woman you love her, she will certainly feed you.”

“My friend Mercedes Pena made me get in touch with my emotions just before I had a breast cut off. Just as I suspected, they were awful. "How do you Latinas do this—all the time in touch with your emotions?" I asked her. "That's why we take siestas," she replied.”

“Marie falls back upon her idea, obdurately, and says, "A woman only lives by love and for love. When she's no longer good for that she's no longer anything."
She repeats, "You see — I'm nothing any more."
Ah, she is at the bottom of her abyss! She is at the extremity of a woman's mourning! She is not thinking only of me. Her thought is higher and vaster. She is thinking of all the woman she is, of all that love is, of all possible things when she says, "I'm no longer anything." And I — I am only he who is present with her just now, and no help whatever is left her to look for from any one.
I should like to pacify and console this woman who is gentleness and simplicity and who is sinking there while she lightly touches me with her presence — but exactly because she is there I cannot lie to her, I can do nothing against her grief, her perfect, infallible grief.
"Ah!" she cries, "if we came to life again!"”