What can she possibly teach you, twenty seven names for tears?

The best you'll ever do is to understand yourself, know what it is that you want, and not let the cattle stand in your way.

She was not used to being cruel, but he had taught her how.

My hatred gives me strength.

The pearls weren't really white, they were a warm oyster beige, with little knots in between so if they broke, you only lost one. I wished my life could be like that, knotted up so that even if something broke, the whole thing wouldn't come apart.

A cliche is like a coin that has been handled too much. Once language has been overly handled, it no longer leaves a clear imprint.

The nearest I'd come to feeling anything like God was the plan blue cloudless sky and a certain silence, but how do you pray to that?