I don't understand the point of being together if you're not the happiest.

People say children from broken homes have it hard, but the children of charmed marriages have their own particular challenges.

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.

He was one of those guys who'd pronounce I'm a hugger as he came at you, neglecting to ask if the feeling was mutual.

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.

I've suffered betrayal with all five senses. For over a year.

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.)