It was amazing how it worked: the tiniest bit of truth made credible the greatest lies.

Paris was a museum displaying exactly itself.

It was the combination of many factors... With most people, suicide is like Russian roulette. Only one chamber has a bullet. With the Lisbon girls, the gun was loaded. A bullet for family abuse. A bullet for genetic predisposition. A bullet for historical malaise. A bullet for inevitable momentum. The other two bullets are impossible to name, but that doesn't mean the chambers were empty.

Regret, already sogging me down, burst its dam. It seeped into my legs, it pooled in my heart.

Everyone struggles against despair, but it always wins in the end. It has to. It's the thing that lets us say goodbye.

To be inclusive you must accommodate different levels of sophistication.

Winter is the season of alcoholism and despair.