There are a million talented writers who are unpublished only because they stop writing when it gets hard.

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.

She’s easy to like. I’ve never understood why that’s considered a compliment - that just anyone could like you.

And if all of us are play-acting, there can be no such thing as a soul mate, because we don't have genuine souls.

Don't be discouraged - every relationship you have is a failure, until you find the right one.

Give me a man with a little fight in him, a man who calls me on my bullshit. (But who also kind of likes my bullshit.)

Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand.