So much is happening and yet nothing at all.

The best is when we all go at once, like an army of interrelated popcorn zombies who laugh the same laughs and gasp the same gasps and aren’t so germ-phobic with each other that we won’t share a ginormous Coke with one straw. Family is useful like that.

The handwriting was a girl’s. I mean, you can tell. That enchanted cursive.

People come to New York to be different, but I go to Starbucks to be the same.

Tal told me he loved me, and told me and told me, but you don't tell someone that and then tell them they're not experienced enough in bed and should read a book or something to learn, or they should try wearing deep-red lipstick and tight skirts to look hot like their best friend once in a while. If Tal hadn't lied to me when he said he loved me, I might not be without a future right now, a sucker who was so chickenshit she allowed herself to believe a false dream from a false god. I'm not sure I ever even liked Tal, much less loved him.

She doesn't want the boy causing the distinction between "love" and "in love

What's better, I wonder - to be a toy for the humans, or to control your own destiny , even if the only way to do so is suicide?