She liked the life she had. She loved habits. She craved a day with nothing in it, a long, quiet stretch of hours in the studio.

She remembered me.' This was his worst weakness, his most toxic drug.

It's so much easier to have no expectations than to have big ones.

She wasn't as destructive as Bee. She had never been as dramatic. Rather, she'd slipped carefully, stealthily away from her ghosts.

A part of her wanted to tell him she still loved him, and that even though this love was hopeless and long over, it still consumed her year after year. It was a tangled hairball of feelings and she couldn't pull forth any one strand.

She wondered if maybe tragedy was what it took to make your heart capable of admitting a new member.

Maybe it didn’t matter if you were a world-famous heartthrob or a painful geek. Maybe it didn’t matter if you friend was possibly dying. Maybe you just got through it. Maybe that was all you could ask for.