I guess it could be worse. My name could be Tlaquepaque, or Irkutsk, or Pyongyang. Or, you know, Pittsburgh. Sometimes I flip through the atlas just to remind myself of all the names that would be worse than mine.

Jack Meyer did a great job for Harvard.

There are women named Faith, Hope, Joy, and Prudence. Why not Despair, Guilt, Rage, and Grief? It seems only right. 'Tom, I'd like you to meet the girl of my dreams, Tragedy.' These days, Trajedi.

Could you just call me Pigeon?” he asked the teacher when she read his name.
“Does your mother call you Pigeon?”
“No.”
“Then to me you are Paul.”
...
“Nathan Sutter,” the teacher read.
“My mother never calls me Nathan.”
“Is it Nate?”
“She calls me Honeylips.

Does it hurt now?" he asked, his tone rough and seductive.
"No." She shook her head again and sighed, trying to pretend his touch didn't make her uncomfortably wet.
He grinned. "So...what's with the heavy breathing?

Do you know why hurricanes have names instead of numbers? To keep the killing personal. No one cares about a bunch of people killed by a number. '200 Dead as Number Three Slams Ashore' is not nearly as interesting a headline as 'Charlie kills 200.' Death is much more satisfying and entertaining if you personalize it.

Me, I'm still waitin' for Hurricane Ed. Old Ed wouldn't hurt ya, would he? Sounds kinda friendly. 'Hell no, we ain't evacuatin'. Ed's comin'!