She’s easy to like. I’ve never understood why that’s considered a compliment - that just anyone could like you.

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

What an indulgence it would be, to just blow off my head, all my mean spirits disappearing with a gun blast, like blowing a seedy dandelion apart.

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

It's impossible to compete with the dead. I wished I could stop trying.

I have a meanness inside me, real as an organ. Slit me at my belly and it might slide out, meaty and dark, drop on the floor so you could stomp on it.

Friends see most of each other’s flaws. Spouses see every awful last bit.