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.

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

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.

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.)

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

Women get consumed. Not surprising, considering the sheer amount of traffic a woman's body experiences. Tampons and speculums. Cocks, fingers, vibrators and more, between the legs, from behind, in the mouth.

A child weaned on poison considers harm a comfort.