.. the truth is what you can't see but are certain of anyway.

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.

I love that moment, when you stop struggling to stay awake and your eyelids shut sink down and you slip effortlessly into another realm that’s beckoning to you.

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.

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.

How do we know that our life really happened and that we are not simply accumulating details, making it all up as we go along?

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.