Narrative becomes the way you make sense of chaos. That's how you focus the world. It's the only reason you should ever try this writing job.

I held her, he wanted to say, and if I knew for certain that all it would take to hold her again would be to die, then I couldn't raise the gun to my head fast enough.

How many psychiatrists does it take to screw in a lightbulb?” “I don’t know. How many?” “Eight.” “Why?” “Oh, stop overanalyzing it.

Narrative becomes the way you make sense of chaos. That's how you focus the world. It's the only reason you should ever try this writing job.

He wondered if this was what clinical depression felt like, a total numbness, a weary lack of hope.

That's the thing about being a victim; you start to think it'll happen to you on a regular basis. It's living with the reality of your own vulnerability, and it sucks.

What's your name?" "Emma Gould," she said. "What's yours?" "Wanted." "By all the girls or just the law?