These guys, they were so sure of their places in life--so deeply confident of their merit and their future--they didn't need any kind of front at all.

I sit around too much, waiting for other people to do stuff and angsting about stuff they've done, without doing anything myself.

Everything doesn't seem like anything when you love someone. Especially when you're young.

My problem is I can think whatever I think—girl power, solidarity, Gloria Steinem rah rah rah — but I still feel the way I feel. Which is jealous. And pissy about little things.

Face it. There's not going to be a happy ending... at least not with this hero. So don't go mooning around thinking that your breakup is only the crisis before the big romantic scene, because I'm here to tell you that it's not. When you are dumped, you are dumped, and the guy isn't going to change his mind and realize that suddenly he loves you instead of that girl he's flirting with in lunchroom, now that he's free.

Silence is a protective coating over pain.

I hate those endless descriptions of a heroine's physical attributes . . . it really bothers me how in books it seems like the only two choices are perfection or self-hatred. As if readers will only like a character who's ideal--or completely shattered.