The worst feeling: when you just have to wait and prepare yourself for the lie.

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

I've always been partial to the image of liquor as lubrication, a layer of protection from all the sharp thoughts in your head.

I'd come to believe there was no food more depressing than Danish, a pastry that seemed stale upon arrival

I've suffered betrayal with all five senses. For over a year.

I waited patiently - years - for the pendulum to swing the other way, for men to start reading Jane Austen, learn how to knit, pretend to love cosmos, organize scrapbook parties, and make out with each other while we leer. And then we'd say, Yeah, he's a Cool Guy.

I'm a true-crime addict. It's not something I'm particularly proud of, but I can't stop.