Emotion seemed more valid than experience, for I had so much of the former and so little of the latter.

Vanity, wounded pride, rejection, self-delusion. I could recite a litany of little pinpricks that finally produce a gaping wound. That's how marriages and friendships come apart.

People who let the weak or greedy drink their blood sometimes have a need to play God.

Even angels must find their wings too heavy sometimes.

I should coldly, clinically think of myself and stop worrying about other people, as though I'm a necessary woman, indispensable to their happiness and well-being. Self-preservation is the first law. I must start trying to obey the law.

Isn't it boring ... how people always want to tell you their own stories instead of listening to yours? I suppose that's why psychiatrists are better than friends; the paid listener doesn't interrupt with his own experiences.

Fear is for the old. Lack of it is one of the joys of youth.