Do real boys actually call girls baby? I don't have enough experience to know. I do know that if a guy ever called me baby, I'd probably laugh in his face. Or choke him.

Plus, once he did the requisite double-take and recognized me, he’d probably beat the crap out of any guy who looked at me in all my Snow White meets Frederick’s of Hollywood glory.

I will never forget what you did to me. I will never forgive it. I will never stop mourning what you stole from me. But I realize now I can't steal it back and I'm done spending every day trying to.

It doesn't matter if you do everything right, if you dress the right way and act the right way and follow all the rules, because evil will find you anyway. Evil's resourceful that way.

But you can only go so long being angry before you learn to hate.

I didn't belong in this world anymore. It's not that I wanted to be dead, I just felt like I should be.

I think I’ll stay in pieces. I can shift them, rearrange, depending on the day, depending on what I need to be. I can change on a whim and be so many different girls and none of them has to be me.

My jealousy is a living thing. Shifting, changing, growing. Like my rage and my mother's regret.

I'd watch her, amazed at just how much a person could accomplish fueled by tea and regret.

Maybe I don't need to save her forever. Maybe I can just save her right now, in this moment, and if I can do that, maybe it will save me and maybe that can be enough.

Every normal family is one tragedy away from complete implosion.

No man ever threw away life while it was worth keeping.

The long-term value of amplifying the intelligence of people is a lot more important than betting on sports.

I thought about how one tiny decision can change a life. A decision that takes only a split second to make.

There is one pain, I often feel, which you will never know. It's caused by the absence of you.

But, if you miss (the supposedly easy pin) by just a little bit, you're looking at the next putt from 30 feet. The ball just rolls away.

I think we have no apologies to make. We were in a state of global rivalry with a global adversary.

It takes time to learn to draw. It takes years, not a few weeks.

Art is the only thing you cannot punch a button for. You must do it the old-fashioned way. Stay up and really burn the midnight oil. There are no compromises.

The stitch of a book is its words.

Drinks like this tend to get called Traffic Lights or Rainbow's Revenge or, in places where truth is more highly valued, Hello and Good-Bye, Mr. Brain Cell.