The face you give the world tells the world how to treat 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.

There are no really new stories anymore.

My dad had limitations. That's what my good-hearted mom always told us. He had limitations, but he meant no harm. It was kind of her to say, but he did do harm.

To spend a life in dreams, that sounded too lovely.

They always call depression the blues, but I would have been happy to waken to a periwinkle outlook. Depression to me is urine yellow, washed out, exhausted miles of weak piss.

I think there is something very relatable in the idea that you hit a certain age, later in your life, where you realize you have to pick up the rug and see what's underneath it and deal with stuff.