She was a coquette; he was sure she had a spirit of her own; but in her bright, sweet, superficial little visage there was no mockery, no irony. Before long it became obvious that she was much disposed towards conversation.

They appeared to know enough to justify their jobs, and nothing more.

We are not what we do, we are not what we have, we are not what others think of us. Coming home is claiming the truth. I am the beloved child of a loving creator.

The only time it was okay to drink Kahlúa was if you were thirteen, your parents were out of town, and you needed something to break the ice so you could have sex with your homeroom teacher. Kahlúa was medicine for teenagers; not a drink for grown-ups.

Written By Augusten Burroughs

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