Isn't It Romantic

Love is even better the second time around, say those who have screwed up their first relationship. Among that group might be the neocon essayist who, although undoubtely a major embarassment to his parents, managed to find his way home due to the luminescent quality of his skin (or at least the large expanse thereof on top of his head).

Query: Which prolific, prizewinning Puke penned the following tribute to the woman generously willing to overlook his obvious defects?

[Name omitted]'s ease and calm had already gifted me with a wondrously new sense of comfort in my own skin. As we wandered about the Cape in a green VW bug on a night so dark no stars showed themselves, we made our own light. And when we turned round the Orleans rotary and knew the way home at last, I knew I had found my way home for the remainder of my days.