Then I decided I would spend the summer writing a novel. That would fix a lot of people.

I would catch sight of some flawless man off in the distance, but as soon as he moved closer I immediately saw he wouldn’t do at all.

I'm happier writing about doctors than I would have been being one.

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my eyes and all is born again.

There is so much hurt in this game of searching for a mate, of testing, trying. And you realize suddenly that you forgot it was a game, and turn away in tears.

I felt my lungs inflate with the onrush of scenery—air, mountains, trees, people. I thought, "This is what it is to be happy.

Dying Is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well.