I said I kicked a French chicken in the stomach once." "Huh?" "It said, 'Oeuf.'" "What is that?" "It's a joke. Do you want to hear another, or have you already had un oeuf?

She had fallen in love so many times that she began to suspect she was not falling in love at all, but doing something much more ordinary.

I hated myself for going, why couldn't I be the kind of person who stays?

When we eat factory-farmed meat we live, literally, on tortured flesh. Increasingly, that tortured flesh is becoming our own.

We shouldn't be intimidated by someone else's idea of perfection if it will prevent us from taking steps we actively want to take.

This is love, she thought, isn't it? When you notice someone's absence and hate that absence more than anything? More, even, than you love his presence?

Living on a planet of fixed size requires compromise, and while we are the only party capable of negotiating, we are not the only party at the table. We've never claimed more, and we've never had less.