It was that summer, too, that I began the cutting, and was almost as devoted to it as my newfound loveliness. I adored tending to myself, wiping a shallow red pool of my blood away with a damp washcloth to magically reveal, just above my naval: queasy. Applying alcohol with dabs of a cottonball, wispy shreds sticking to the bloody lines of: perky. I had a dirty streak my senior year, which I later rectified.

Republicans go to Sam’s Club, Democrats go to Costco.

Friends see most of each other’s flaws. Spouses see every awful last bit.

There are a million talented writers who are unpublished only because they stop writing when it gets hard.

I was raised feral, and I mostly stayed that way.

There's a difference between really loving someone and loving the idea of her.

I feel myself trying to be charming, and then I realize I’m obviously trying to be charming, and then I try to be even more charming to make up for the fake charm, and then I’ve basically turned into Liza Minnelli: I’m dancing in tights and sequins, begging you to love me. There’s a bowler and jazz hands and lots of teeth.