I had a friend who said, "You don't have an internal critic. You have an internal sadist."

We have work to do if you are not to be a total failure like high-waisted, acid-wash jeans.

I can be whatever. You can be whatever. We can be whatever. Whatever, together.

She was too much—for Zenith, Ohio. She’d tried at times to make herself smaller, to fit neatly into the ordered lines of expectation. But somehow, she always managed to say or do something outrageous—she’d accept a dare to climb a flagpole, or make a slightly risqué joke, or go riding in cars with boys—and suddenly she was “that awful O’Neill girl” all over again.

Prepared to fly, even if she has to loose her legs to do it

I'm just saying it's not all sand castles and ninjas.

Truth casts a spell of its own.