In the end, it wasn't death that surprised her but the stubbornness of life.

I saw the movie, he said. I know what it's about. Listen to this. When girls get to be about twelve or so - he leaned toward us - their tits bleed.

Where else would she feel more comfortable than in this subterranean realm where people wrote down what they couldn't say, where they gave voice to their most shameful longings and knowledge?

A changeableness, too, as if beneath my visible face there was another, having second thoughts.

A girl's not a watermelon you plug a hole in to see if it's sweet.

I think it is important to remind people of the extent of our free will.

Just like ice, lives crack, too. Personalities. Identities.