For the first time in my life I've done something for me and by choice and not because somebody told me it was good or bad.

That's when you realize that most of it-life, the relentless mechanism of existing-isn't about you. It doesn't include you at all. It will thrust onward even after you've jumped the edge. Even after you're dead.

We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.

Sometimes I'm afraid to go to sleep because of what I'm leaving behind.

The question was: Will you meet me tomorrow? And the word was: Yes.

The deadliest of all deadly things: It kills you both when you have it and when you don’t.

My former people were not totally wrong. Love is a kind of possession. It’s a poison. And if Alex no longer loves me, I can’t bear to think that he might love somebody else.