On a piece of Commonplace after a long hiatus

I've been enjoying a good read, a first novel by Barry McCrea called: the first verse: a novel. Here are one or two short passages that I imagine that I might want to remember:

See Page 58:

About an hour later, I got a text message from him inviting me to his birthday drinks the following Thursday in Kiely's of Donnybrook, scene of several stations of the via dolorosa of my last years in Gonzaga (Ian Leaves Without Telling Niall; Ian Buys a Drink for a Stranger and Ignores Niall; Niall Mops Up Ian's Vomit and Carries Him Home; Ian Shows a Callous Disregard for Niall in Making Transport Arrangements Home).

See Page 64:

I watched John leaning casually and laddishly against the bar, making chat with the man next to him in that code of set phrases, winks and fond insults which I have never been able to master and which is the language of real men.

See Page 224

My initial instinct, the habit I had picked up during my long, lonely passion for Ian, was to feel for the latest scars and burdens of unrequited love, as a soldier in a field hospital checks, as his concussion fades, for where he has been hit by schrapnel. My first realisation was that I was no longer in love with Ian, a piece of knowledge that engulfed me in a huge white wave of relief.

See Page 250:

When we had said goodbye at the entrance to the parking lot, she patted me on the shoulder in a distant way. I realised that she was not withholding, that she held no grudge against me, things were not in any crisis that would be resolved: she was just someone starting to live out a long epilogue to her story.