Please, if one of us cries, let both of us cry. But preferably neither of us.

This isn't a watercolor, it's a mural.

Some were brilliant bordering on genius. Others, genius bordering on madness

What term do you employ when you speak of your progenitor?" I answered with the term I'd always wanted to employ. "Sonovabitch." "To his face?" she asked. "I never see his face." "He wears a mask?" "In a way, yes. Of stone. Of absolute stone.

What can you say about a twenty-five-year-old girl who died?

I was afraid of being rejected, yes. I was also afraid of being accepted for the wrong reasons.

The ‘equilibrium’ that people see in me is really an illusion. I am as flawed as anyone. It’s only that I seem to have the knack of hiding.