I'd always thought telling the truth to other people was hard, but maybe that was a snap compared to telling the truth to yourself. Sometimes we just refused to know what we knew.

Love can come when you're already who you are, when you're filled with you. Not when you look to someone else to fill the empty space.

Anyway, madness and genius. They're the disturbed pals of the human condition. The Bonnie and Clyde, the Thelma and Louise, the baking soda and vinegar. Insanity just walks alongside the brilliant like some creepy, insistent shadow.

Truth was funny, because it was an insistent thing, maybe as powerful and insistent as some force of nature, the push of water or wind. You could keep it out only so long, but it had its own will and its own needs, and maybe you could keep it at bay with lies, but not for long, not for always.

Hurt is a weapon. Better weapon than most because it doesn't look like one.

...forever is hard enough without it beginning now.

Summer, after all, is a time when wonderful things can happen to quiet people.