There’s something disturbing about recalling a warm memory and feeling utterly cold.

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

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

I had no sympathy for drama queens.

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 feel like I need to give people a note with the book that says, 'I'm OK, no worries!'

Sometimes I think illness sits inside every woman, waiting for the right moment to bloom. I have known so many sick women all my life. Women with chronic pain, with ever-gestating diseases. Women with conditions. Men, sure, they have bone snaps, they have backaches, they have a surgery or two, yank out a tonsil, insert a shiny plastic hip. Women get consumed.