You've got to have someone who loves your body. Who doesn't define you, but sees you. Who loves what he sees. Who you don't have to struggle to be good enough for.

You look so good," I say, and s***! Oh god, that's not what I meant. S***! "It looks good. The book.

Beaches, music, and car rides—they could all bring on a sudden bout of deep, dreamy thoughts.

Too often in my life, love has been defined as "humiliation with occasional roses".

Sometimes you think you've found love, when it's really just one of those objects that are shiny in a certain light--a trophy, say, or a ring, or a diamond, even. Glass shards, maybe. You've got to be careful, you do. The shine can blind you. The edges can cut you in way you never imagined. It is up to you to allow that or not.

A lot of life is just surviving what happens.

People are secretive when they have secrets.