Marla's philosophy of life, she told me, is that she can die at any moment. The tragedy of her life is that she doesn't.

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 pathetic how we can't live with the things we can't understand. How we need everything labeled and explained and deconstructed.

At this rate, we'll never get to the future.

Any time some well-meaning person forces you to demonstrate you have no talent and rubs your nose in the fact you're a failure at the only dream you ever had, take another drink.

As a culture, we believe that if we kill something, we've killed the issue. That's why so many books end with death, why so many plays end with death, because it's full resolution. I'm always curious to know what happens after Romeo and Juliet die. In a way, that's the beginning of the story. Maybe beyond the story is even better.

People don't want their lives fixed. Nobody wants their problems solved. Their dramas. Their distractions. Their stories resolved. Their messed cleaned up. Because what would they have left? Just the big scary unknown.