Love Story

Love means never having to say you're sorry.

What the hell makes you so smart?" I asked. "I wouldn't go for coffee with you, " she answered. "Listen -- I wouldn't ask you." "That, "she replied "is what makes you stupid.

I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons.

The pain of not knowing what to do was exceeded only by that of knowing what I had done.

Please, if one of us cries, let both of us cry. But preferably neither of us.

What the hell makes you smart?" I asked. "I wouldn't go for coffee with you." "Listen - I wouldn't ask you." "That," she replied, "is what makes you stupid.

He had then warned his daughter not to violate the Eleventh Commandment. "Which one is that?" I asked her. "Do not bullshit thy father," she said.

Now would you do me a favor?' From somewhere inside me came this devastating assault to make me cry. But I withstood. I would not cry. I would merely indicate to Jennifer - by the affirmative nodding of my head - that I would be happy to do her any favor whatsoever. 'Would you please hold me very tight?' she asked. I put my hand on her forearm - Christ, so thin - and gave it a little squeeze. 'No, Oliver,' she said, 'really hold me. Next to me.'I was very, very careful - of the tubes and things - as I got onto the bed with her and put my arms around her. 'Thanks, Ollie.' Those were her last words.

You don't know about falling off cliffs, Prep­pie,' she said. 'You never fell off one in your god­damn life.' 'Yeah,' I said, re­cov­er­ing the power of speech. 'When I met you.

Her handwriting was curious — small sharp little letters with no capitals (who did she think she was, e. e. cummings?).

What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

There was a brief silence. I think I heard snow falling.

What term do you employ when you speak of your progenitor?" I answered with the term I'd always wanted to employ. "Sonovabitch." "To his face?" she asked. "I never see his face." "He wears a mask?" "In a way, yes. Of stone. Of absolute stone.

Jenny, if you're so con­vinced I'm a loser, why did you bull­doze me into buy­ing you cof­fee?' She looked me straight in the eye and smiled. 'I like your body,' she said.

Either way I don't come first, which for some stupid reason bothers hell out of me, having grown up with the notion that I always had to be number one. Family heritage, don't you know?

But what does he do to qualify as a sonovabitch?” Jenny asked. “Make me”, I replied. “Beg pardon?” “Make me”, I repeated. Her eyes widened like saucers. “You mean like incest?” she asked. “Don’t give me your family problems, Jen. I have enough of my own.” “Like what, Oliver?” she asked, “like just what is it he makes you do?” “The ‘right things’”, I said. “What’s wrong with the ‘right things’?” she asked, delighting in the apparent paradox.

I think the Peace Corps is a fine thing, don't you?" he said. "Well," I replied, "it's certainly better than War Corps.

I began to think about God. I mean, the notion of a Supreme Being existing somewhere began to creep into my private thoughts. Not because I wanted to strike Him on the face, to punch Him out for what He was about to do to me - to Jenny, that is. No, the kind of religious thoughts I had were just the opposite. Like, when I woke up in the morning and Jenny was there. Still there. I'm sorry, embarrassed even, but I hoped there was a God I could say thank you to.

I didn't know you were re­lated to Se­wall Boat House too,' she said. 'Yeah. I come from a long line of wood and stone.

Love Means Not Ever Having To Say You're Sorry.