At this point in my life, I'm not looking for any happy endings. I'm just looking to get things started.

I want to explain everything to him, show him that it’s really not as screwed up as it all sounds, but then I remember that it is.

Phillip is the Paul McCartney of our family: better-looking than the rest of us, always facing a different direction in pictures, and occasionally rumored to be dead.

At some point, being angry is just another bad habit, like smoking, and you keep poisoning yourself without thinking about it.

That's the thing about life; everything feels so permanent, but you can disappear in an instant.

The thing about living alone is that it gives you a lot of time to think. You don't necessarily reach any conclusions, because wisdom is largely a function of intelligence and self-awareness, not time on your hands. But you do become very good at thinking yourself into endless loops of desperation in half the time it would take a normal person.

Sometimes it’s heartbreaking to see your siblings as the people they’ve become. Maybe that’s why we all stay away from each other as a matter of course.