I am good at walking away. Rejection teaches you how to reject.

Whether you want to call it God or the mystery of the cosmos doesn't matter to me.

Language always betrays us, tells the truth when we want to lie, and dissolves into formlessness when we would most like to be precise.

How many of us want any of us to see us as we really are?

Anything outside marriage seems like freedom and excitement.

You've got these twenty million people who call themselves the Evangelical Christians who will put their hand up and say, I believe in the devil, I'm against abortion and gay rights, and we have to blow up the world. It's frightening.

I didn't know what hate felt like, not the hate that comes after love. It's huge and desperate and it longs to be proved wrong. And every day it's proved right it grows a little more monstrous. If the love was passion, the hate will be obsession. A need to see the once-loved weak and cowed beneath pity. Disgust is close and dignity is far away. The hate is not only for the once loved, it's for yourself too; how could you ever have loved this?