My body was a machine, plain and simple. I worked it to stay strong; I fed it to keep it running.

Most people weren’t aware enough to fear the things that could really hurt them.

The whole world is like Whitewall's razors I burst out. It cuts us, and we bleed but there's no purpose to it.

Sometimes it felt as if all happiness came at a price. You could never, ever, have perfection. Life gave you beauty so you could bear the pain.

Show, not tell, right? Action, not words. You don’t want to hear how sorry I am or how things will be different this time. You want to see it with your own eyes. And until I can show you that, you won’t tell me what I want to hear.

I think my head's a minefield strewn with triggers, and maybe if I survive each explosion, what emerges from the wreckage will be me, really, truly me.

There are quiet ways to die where the body just doesn’t notice that the heart is gone.