People have a habit of inventing fictions they will believe wholeheartedly in order to ignore the truth they cannot accept.

Evie didn’t mind yelling, but she hated feeling judged. It got under her skin and made her feel small and ugly and unfixable.

The sun has blessed you," Sarita used to say. "Look how he has left his kisses on your face for all to see and be jealous." "The sun loves you more," I said, rubbing my hands over her dry arms, the color of an aged wine gourd, and she laughed. But this is not India and we are not prized for our freckles here. The sun is not allowed to show his love.

Pastoralia by George Saunders. Possibly my favorite book. Its one of the weirdest books Ive ever read. If Monty Python and Thomas Pynchon had a love child, and it was raised by Frank Zappa on a weird commune, that would be this book.

It's possible to pretend I'm someone other than who I am, and if I pretend long enough, I can believe it.

I wonder how many times each day she dies a little.

If you tell them what they want to hear, they don't bother to try to see.