We burned with love for ourselves, all of us, starters of the fire we suffered- our love was the affliction for which only our love was the cure.

I zipped myself all the way into the sleeping bag of myself, not because I was hurt, and not because I had broken something, but because they were cracking up.

I like to see people reunited, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can't tell fast enough, the ears that aren't big enough, the eyes that can't take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.

Love me, because love doesn't exist, and I have tried everything that does.

I think it's very pretty. Can it be pretty if no one thinks it's pretty? I think it's pretty. If you're the only one? That's pretty pretty. And what about the boys? Don't you want them to think you're pretty? I wouldn't want a boy to think I was pretty unless he was the kind of boy who thought I was pretty.

It broke my heart into more pieces than my heart was made of, why can't people say what they mean at the time?

She avoids mirrors, and lifts a powerful telescope to find herself.