I love being single. It's almost like being rich.

There are days when none of us can bear it, but the good comes around again. Happiness is seasonal, like anything else. Wait it out. There are people who love you. People who can help.

You can’t save others from themselves because those who make a perpetual muddle of their lives don’t appreciate your interfering with the drama they’ve created. They want your poor-sweet-baby sympathy, but they don’t want to change.

Ghosts don't haunt us. That's not how it works. They're present among us because we won't let go of them.

Sometimes I claim I write because I put in an application at Sears and they've never called back.

There's a certain class of people who will do you in and then remain completely mystified by the depth of your pain.

The memory is like orbiting twin stars, one visible, one dark, the trajectory of what's evident forever affected by the gravity of what's concealed.