The humans create life, and senselessly cause death. For nothing.

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.

I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as often as ramrod or chum or teetotaler.

There is no such thing as a soulmate...and who would want there to be? I don't want half of a shared soul. I want my own damn soul.

Wold domination is exhausting and cliche. People ought to just focus on being individual responsible citizens of the earth instead of assholes.

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

Books. I'd probably spend all my time alone and lost in books if I could. It's easier that way.