She should think about her own soul, what she was going to do with this funky tattered pond dank item. Dark and stained, a ruined thing.

I wandered through the stacks, running my hands along the spines of the books on the shelves, they reminded me of cultured or opinionated guests at a wonderful party, whispering to each other.

We strive for beauty and balance, the sensual over the sentimental.

In our exterior life, we can be only one person. But in our imagination, we can be anyone, anywhere.

There is no God, there is only what you want.

She was starting to think there might be such a thing as karma - that repetition - maybe you lived through the same thing over and over until you stopped caring. Maybe eventually it got less intense, until it was just nothing.

Women always put men first. That's how everything got so screwed up.