Look, Rose. You Don't Have

Kill Me, Doug. Just Kill Me Now. Put Me Out Of My Misery.” “christ, Kincaid, What Did You Say To Him?” Murmured Doug. “well,” I Told Doug, “i Ripped On His Fans And On How Long It Takes For His Books To Come Out.” Doug Stared At Me, His Expectations Exceeded. “then I Said—not Knowing Who He Was—that I’d Be Seth Mortensen’s Love Slave In Exchange For Advanced Copies Of His Books.

We All Have Moments Of Weakness. It’s How We Recover From Them That Really Counts.

What Was Love, Really? Flowers, Chocolate, And Poetry? Or Was It Something Else? Was It Being Able To Finish Someone's Jokes? Was It Having Absolute Faith That Someone Was There At Your Back? Was It Knowing Someone So Well That They Instantly Understood Why You Did The Things You Did—and Shared Those Same Beliefs?

"well, I'm Supposed To Be Crazy, Right?" [...] "and There Isn't Much I Wouldn't Do For You. The Stupider, The Better."

I Felt My Heart Breaking All Over Again. Why? Why Had This Happened To Us? Why Was The Universe So Cruel?