I hate high heels. Walking in high heels for eight hours a day should be forbidden by the Geneva Convention.
Does my new feminism make me look fat?
Writers are also sort of like vultures, but with fewer ethics.
Without further warning, the sky opens up and cries.
Oh, I've a love, a true, true love, who waits upon yon shore... and if my love won't be my love, then I will live no more.
I don't know. Sometimes, I feel nothing, and I'm so afraid. Afraid I'll stop feeling anything at all. I'll just slip away inside myself...I just need to feel something" A Great and Terrible Beauty, Page 177, by