There's something ugly about a pretty boy who knows he's pretty and assumes everyone else know it too.

Something I would always remember. When you forget how bad it hurts, you feel so free.

Most people, in the end, really are all on their own.

There's something ugly about a pretty boy who knows he's pretty and assumes everyone else know it too.

The story you choose to tell isn't always the story you believe.

[C]ouches and chairs covered in scratches aim away from one another, making it possible for a dozen people to sit in this room at once and not have to talk to one other person, which is a miracle in furniture arrangement.

We were alive. I remember it that way. We were still alive, and we couldn't see how close we were to the end.