The story of my life can be told in silver: in chocolate mills, serving spoons, and services for twelve. The story of my life has nothing to do with me. The story of my life is things. Things that aren’t mine, that won’t ever be mine. It’s all I’ve ever known. I wish it wasn’t.

Too late, too late, juice pouring does not a kind soul make, and I killed you.

I suppose he's making a real fashion statement, but this is high school. You're not supposed to be real. You're supposed to be enough like everyone else to get through and out into the waiting world.

So, you're telling me that no matter what, you can't be happy? Well, darling, it's no wonder you're miserable. It's what you want...So then try (to be happy).

I didn’t want to see it. I didn’t think he’d ever really notice me, and in the end, he didn’t.

I-I don't usually go around throwing rocks at people's windows. Or saying that I've wanted to kiss you since your first day at work, when you wanted to know why we had three codes for fish sandwiches when we only sold one kind.

Once upon a time, I did not live in Shady Pines. Once upon a time, my name was not Alice. Once upon a time, I didn't know how lucky I was.