Women were excited after sex, wired becasue in their minds the relationship was on beginning. Men went to sleep m the because for the orgasm had arrived and the relationship was done.

All I wanted was you. I tore down my wall for you. Now it's been rebuilt.

We see what we want to see. We idealize each other with our own fantasies.

Once desire was turned on, combustion gave it a life of its own. Once it was turned on it became a raging wildfire, uncontrollable and uncontainable, the type of conflagration that had to be allowed to burn itself out.

That’s what sex does: it starts relationships and it verifies the end of relationships.

Sleeping with strangers will have you walking with enemies.

And a woman needs a man to protect her from other men. Well, women used to. . . . Things have changed. Women are in the middle East, fighting and protecting men now.

DNA predisposes a certain behavior, but if your environment doesn't support it, then that behavior won't manifest. When people don't have opportunity, they have to create their own opportunities

hate isn't healthy, it damages the hater more than the one who's hated!

... honesty is like seeing a crackhead up close: it ain’t that fucking attractive.

Some crazy man came up to me and started screaming at me about how he hated Allah, and before I could tell him that my family was part of the Catholic Church in India, he knifed me.

Then she called Matthew.He answered, "Where the fuck are you? I've been calling you for hours."She said, "I was asleep. Just woke up. What's the problem?""Don't tell me you're still in your hotel room in your bed.""Didn't I say I just woke up? Still in bed. Needed some sleep. Just waking up. . . .""Is that right?". . . "Where are you right now?""Antigua motherfucking Yacht Club. Room twenty-fucking-nine. Sitting on a . . . four-poster bed that has a damn mosquito net pulled back so I know I can see what the fuck I see. And I see an empty four-poster bed . . . But hell, maybe I'm wrong, because I know I didn't marry a goddamn liar. So I guess if I'm in your room and you're in the goddamn bed, just waking up, then either I am as blind as a fucking bat or you must be fucking invisible.

It is silent, an anagram for listen. That is what I do. Listen while she remains silent.

It’s scary telling someone you care about, someone you love who you really are.

Physical attraction was about aesthetics, not sexual performance, not mental stimulation. Without a mental connection, a remarkable sexual performance yielded no lifelong guarantees. It was only lust. And lust was not love.

I deserved to find pleasure that surpassed my imagination, better than any I had experienced.

People know your tragedies and they treat you like you’re not human. Like you’re a three-headed goat. A monster from some other planet. They keep reminding you of your pain. You see how they look at me? They’re stuck on that person I used to be. They can’t see that old life as just a moment in time that I’ve moved on from. It was a horrible life.

I heard you on the phone with her. I happened to be in your arms, and you happened to be inside of me, balls deep from what I remember, so I felt the difference, felt what you felt for her, heard how your voice changed when you talked to her.

A woman of European heritage sporting a preacher's collar had the opposite effect of a Muslim woman wearing a hijab. She used her privilege and the favored religion to look like a golden child.

I went to public school but kept to myself. When you live in a brothel, you don't want anyone coming to your home.

Preacher pulled her gun to her lap, the trigger aimed toward the stranger. . . . He stared at her like he was ready to dial 911, until he saw she was of European heritage, saw her clerical collar, saw the Bible on the dashboard. White, blond, and Christian. Trifecta. The man's shoulders relaxed and he smiled, waved, and kept going.

. . . the walls of her vagina tightening around me as she laughed.