I will not go on, I thought. I won't. I will throw my soul to the wind and blow into a thousand pieces. I will wash up on a shore somewhere like bleached and broken driftwood. I will dry out in the sun until I-and any gift I ever had-shrivel into the sand.

Perhaps I wasn't going crazy after all. Perhaps I was just becoming a writer.

...and her dreams that didn't happen, that couldn't have happened because she'd pinned them on somebody too broken and unattainable to love her back.

You can always tell how a man will treat his wife by the way he treats his mother.

Adults are constantly telling teenagers that it's what's on the inside that matters. It's always painful to find out that adults have lied to you.

Aren't fairy godmothers supposed to be nice and make you feel better about yourself? ...No, you're confusing fairy godmothers with sales clerks.

What was God thinking when he created a guy this handsome? He wasn't a gift to womankind, he was a torture device.