We are all a volume on a shelf of a library, a story unto ourselves, never possibly described with one word or even very accurately with thousands. A person is never as quiet or unrestrained as they seem, or as bad or good, as vulnerable or as strong, as sweet or as fiesty; we are thickly layered, page upon lying page, behind simple covers. And love - it is not the book itself, but the binding. It can rip us apart or hold us together.

I had always had a little problem looking out for myself in love. I was afraid people would leave me. So I sort of clung and did everything possible to keep someone around. I didn't have a hard talk with myself about who I was keeping around. Doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure that out. I clung to people like human life preservers. I thought i'd die if someone left me. Its ironic because now I'm the one who's leaving.

We should not give away a moment to anyone who does not deserve it.

If time heals all wounds, and a book can hold a person's entire life, then you can speed up the process with a pulp time warp.

When what you want is a relationship, and not a person, get a dog.

An untold story has a weight that can submerge you, sure as a sunken ship at the bottom of the ocean.

Once an asshole, always an asshole.