I cannot be with someone who takes pleasure in inflicting pain on me, someone who can't love me

I'm looking forward to getting back to my house and my Ugg boots and not washing sometimes, and getting back to writing.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.

I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love.

It's much easier to wear your pain on the outside.

I do not look at the world in terms of black and white - and I find people who do rather scary. I think it's all shades of grey.

It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.