some soap opera, you know, real people pretending to be fake people with made-up problems being watched by real people to forget their real problems.

Anybody's true nature is bullshit. There is no human soul. Emotion is bullshit. Love is bullshit.

The moment the world declares a person to be immortal, at that moment the person will strive to prove the world wrong. In the face of glowing press releases and reviews the most heralded women starve themselves or cut themselves or poison themselves. Or they find a man who's happy to do that for him.

I still love him so much I'll hide any amount of conjugated estrogen in his food. So much I'll do anything to destroy him.

It's so hard to forget pain, but it's even harder to remember sweetness. We have no scar to show for happiness. We learn so little from peace.

The truth is, immigrants tend to be more American than people born here.

Everything is a self-portrait. A diary. Your whole drug history’s in a strand of your hair. Your fingernails. The forensic details. The lining of your stomach is a document. The calluses on your hand tell all your secrets. Your teeth give you away. Your accent. The wrinkles around your mouth and eyes. Everything you do shows your hand.