They were all brilliant. They wrote books and painted pictures, and if they ever stopped talking, which I was sure they would never do, they planned to change the world.

I thought I understood what was best. I knew too little and believed too soon.

I couldn’t live with myself if I thought nothing could get better.

I felt as if I had no control over what I said, as if loathsome, ugly words were waiting inside me like snakes and toads looking for a chance to sneak out before I could stop them.

I looked forward to making friends at school, but I had come late and friendships had already been formed. I couldn’t find my way into their world. They seemed to have a secret code I couldn’t decipher.

I find having your own car is like a passport to the world.

You're making yourself too important. Guilt comes from feeling we're at the center of the universe. We're not.