Worries find you easily enough without inviting them.

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

She released her grievances like handfuls of birdseed: They are there, and they are gone.

I was not a lovable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it'd be a scribble with fangs.

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 would have done anything to feel real again.

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