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.

I wish I had the courage not to fight and doubt everything... I wish, just once, I could say, 'This. This is good enough. Just because I choose it.

The amazing miracle of death, when one second you're walking and talking, and the next second you're an object.

A baby is such a blank slate, like training the understudy for a role you're planning to leave. You truly hope your replacement will do the play justice, but in secret you want future critics to say you played the character better.

We kind of deny the stages of life.

I am Joe's Enraged, Inflamed, sense of rejection.

If it comes down to a choice between being unloved and being vulnerable and sensitive and emotional, then you can just keep your love.