p. 187 And the woman is weeping, her secret is out, she has a tree toad living in her neck.
p. 287 But then if you get to where you, you know, love a person, everything sort of reverses. It's not that you love the person because of certain things about the person anymore; it's that you love the things about the person because you love the person. It kind of radiates out, instead of in. At least that's the way...oh, excuse me. That's the way it seems to me.
p. 309 [Average collegiate material] tends to be hideously self-conscious. Mordantly cynical. Or, if not mordantly cynical, then simperingly naive. Or at any rate consistently, off-puttingly pretentious. Not to mention abysmally typed, of course.
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