The girl is infectious human waste, and she's confused and afraid to commit to the wrong thing and so she won't commit to anything.

That’s the American Dream: to make your life into something you can sell.

There was no real sense of life because she had nothing to contrast it with.

If you love something set it free, but don't be surprised if it comes back with herpes.

Your heart is my piñata.

The truth is, wherever you choose to be, it's the wrong place.

Everybody's still miserable in the same way they've always been miserable, and more and more of my friends - especially my male friends - find themselves taking anti-anxiety, psychotropic drugs. It seems like everybody I know is wondering if they're really who they are, or once the prescription runs out, will they become someone different?