One doesn't like to appear vulgarly inquisitive. But if everyone one knows has suddenly started murdering everyone else, it would be terribly nice to know about it.

...it seems to us that the readers who want fiction to be like life are considerably outnumbered by those who would like life to be like fiction.

Things, since you left, have not gone well with me: they have taken me from a place where there was gin to a place where there is no gin[.]

And yet, sometimes facts are no more than pitiful consequences, because guilt does not reside in our acts but in the intentions that give rise to our act. Everything turns on our intentions.

He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.

I yearn to make these scars disappearAnd to forget about the past.To throw away all of my fearsAnd to be happy at last.

We gotta start teaching our daughters to be somebodies instead of somebody's.

Do not tell secrets to those whose faith and silence you have not already tested.

That crafty kindness which inveigles me to sacrifice principle is the serpent in the grass - deadly to the incautious wayfarer.

And now I am here, as alone as I've ever been. I am seventeen years old. This is not how it's suppose to be. This is not how my life is suppose to turn out.

the sins of children rise up in judgment against their parents.

The buildings ... had suffered the inevitable shrinkage of places revisited.

I still have nightmares about holding German sausages over my head.