...a box where she was expected to be sweet and sensitive (but not oversensitive); a box for young and pretty girls who were not as bright or powerful as their boyfriends. A box for people who were not forces to be reckoned with.

The problem is I can think whatever I think but I still feel the way I feel.

Secrets are more powerful when people know you've got them.

Maybe a friend is someone who wants your updates. Even if they're boring. Or sad. Or annoyingly cutesy. A friend says “Sign me up for your boring crap, yes indeed”-because he likes you anyways. He'll tolerate your junk.

Someone once wrote that a novel should deliver a series of small astonishments. I get the same thing spending an hour with you.

The universe is seeming really huge right now. I need something to hold on to.

There will be all these fifty-year-old women wearing hot pants and squeezing themselves into pretzel shapes and then there will be me. Just reaching for my toes like they're China. 'Hello there! You're so far away, I can't get to you! Can you even hear me?