Royally Screwed

Everyone has a price and everything is for sale.

pain is actually a gift. A warning that something is amiss and action must be taken to correct the situation. Without pain, an otherwise minor injury could lead to deadly consequences.

We don’t know that what’s happening is epic, monumental. Life-changing.
It’s only later—after everything is perfect or it’s all fallen apart—that we look back, retrace our steps and realize the exact moment that split our histories and our hearts into two—the before and the after.

Choosing between dull and dishonest is like being asked whether you want to be shot or stabbed.

Marty hangs his coat on the hook while I fill the first filter of the day with freshly ground coffee. “Liv, you know I love you like the baby sister I wish I had—”
“You have a baby sister.”
He has three, actually—triplets—Bibbidy, Bobbidy, and Boo. Marty’s mom was still flying high when she filled out the birth certificates, a little mix-up with the meds during delivery. And Marty’s dad, a rabbi from Queens, was smart enough not to quibble with a woman who’d just had the equivalent of three watermelons pulled out of her.