She may have looked normal on the outside, but once you'd seen her handwriting you knew she was deliciously complicated inside.

Whenever we got a glimpse, their faces looked indecently revealed, as though we were used to seeing women in veils.

What if you had faith and performed good works, what if you died and went to heaven, and what if all the people you met there were people you didn't like?

Normality wasn't normal. It couldn't be. If normality were normal, everybody could leave it alone. They could sit back and let normality manifest itself.

We're all well-acquainted with depression, we all know what the low moods are, but the mania was not something I knew much about. I didn't know that it would make someone dress extravagantly or start to pun, and to stay up and drink.

She'd become an English major for the purest and dullest of reasons: because she loved to read.

She wanted out of the decorating scheme.