People know your tragedies and they treat you like you’re not human. Like you’re a three-headed goat. A monster from some other planet. They keep reminding you of your pain. You see how they look at me? They’re stuck on that person I used to be. They can’t see that old life as just a moment in time that I’ve moved on from. It was a horrible life.

I want those young whipper-snappers to know that in days past we actually used to kill trees and make those things called books.

Most women got this thing called compassion. It doesn't make them foolish, just more forgiving. More capable of trying and hoping things worked out.

jealously lives with insecurity!

we shed the skins of who we used to be!

Resentment makes anything possible.

nothings promised, not the rest of tonight, not all of tomorrow!