There is a small window of opportunity for freckled girls to tan.

They had killed themselves over our dying forests, over manatees maimed by propellers as they surfaced to drink from garden hoses; they had killed themselves at the sight of used tires stacked higher than the pyramids; they had killed themselves over the failure to find a love none of us could ever be. In the end, the tortures tearing the Lisbon girls pointed to a simple reasoned refusal to accept the world as it was handed down to them, so full of flaws.

no reason to mention my peculiarities, my wandering in the maze these many years, shut away from sight. and from love, too.

Every novelist should possess a hermaphroditic imagination.

Basically you come up with the fictional idea and you start writing that story, but then in order to write it and to make it seem real, you sometimes put your own memories in. Even if it's a character that's very different from you.

You don't understand me. I'm a teenager. I've got problems!

It was like autumn, looking at her. it was like driving up north to see the colors.