I have always been intrigued by the journals that girls keep. They are like dollhouses. Once you look inside them, the rest of the world seems very far away, even unbelievable. If only we had the power to keep outside ourselves at such moments, we would spare ourselves so much pain and fear. I'm not talking about truth or falsehood but about surviving.

I can’t imagine what it would be like to have sex with a man. To be so intimate with another person. Not to hide anything. I don’t know if I could do that. It would have to be a boy anyway, not a grown man, someone as scared as me.

Why should I be sad? Everyone has to die. If you have a body, it's too late to cry. It's only funerals I can't stand.

Girls are always saying things like, “I’m so unhappy that I’m going to overdose on aspirin,” but they’d be awfully surprised if they succeeded. They have no intention of dying. At the first sight of blood, they panic.

I have always been intrigued by the journals that girls keep. They are like dollhouses. Once you look inside them, the rest of the world seems very far away, even unbelievable. If only we had the power to keep outside ourselves at such moments, we would spare ourselves so much pain and fear. I'm not talking about truth or falsehood but about surviving.

She goes where she pleases. She appears unhoped for, uncalled for. She moves through doors and walls and windows. Her thoughts move through minds. She enters dreams. She vanishes and is still there. She knows the future and sees through flesh. She is not afraid of anything.

You have to trust someone before you can have rituals with them.