She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered progress?

How could you cleanse yourself if you couldn’t forget?

Tibby cried into her soup when it finally came. "I'm scared... ," she told it. The carrots and peas made no reply, but she felt better for having told them.

I was supposed to write a romantic comedy, but my characters broke up.

How sad it was, Carmen thought, that you acted awful when you were desperately sad and hurt and wanted to be loved. How tragic then, the way everyone avoided you and tiptoed around you when you really needed them. Carmen knew this vicious predicament as well as anyone in the world. How bitter it felt when you acted badly to everyone and ended up hating yourself the most.

I love her. I need her. I gave away everything I had for her. I just wanted her to know me.

All the things she planned to feel, the way she planned to look and seem, the appropriate things she planned to say. None of them came to pass.