People were usually much better in their letters than in reality. They were much like poets in this way.

Her one drink had Cecelia giggling and talking and she was explaining that animals had souls too. Nobody challenged her opinion. It was possible, we knew. What we weren't sure of was if we had any.

I read my books at night, like that, under the quilt with the overheated reading lamp. Reading all those good lines while suffocating. It was magic.

she was consumed by 3 simple things: drink, despair, loneliness; and 2 more: youth and beauty

I often stood in front of the mirror alone, wondering how ugly a person could get.

there is a place in the heart that will never be filled a space and even during the best moments and the greatest times times we will know it we will know it more than ever there is a place in the heart that will never be filled and we will wait and wait in that space.

Dying should come easy: like a freight train you don't hear when your back is turned.