Picasso.” He whispers like a priest. “Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who painted the truth, molded it, ripped from the earth with two angry hands.

Too much sun after a Syracuse winter does strange things to your head, makes you feel strong, even if you aren't.

Censorship is the child of fear and the father of ignorance.

Gym should be illegal. It's humiliating.

I want to go to sleep and not wake up, but I don't want to die. I want to eat like a normal person eats, but I need to see my bones or I will hate myself even more and I might cut my heart out or take every pill that was ever made.

We turned us into wintergirls, and when she tried to leave, I pulled her back into the snow because I was afraid to be alone.

Melancholy held me hostage, and the bees built a hive of sadness in my soul.