I’ve always been partial to the image of liquor as lubrication - a layer of protection from all the sharp thoughts in your head.
I’m not just pretty anymore, I am pretty for my age.
I’m not just pretty anymore, I am pretty for my age. It is the truth: My value has decreased.
It’s all too much for her, the cruelty of human beings.
It is now two million square feet of echo.
It infects you. It ruined me.
If she's sad or upset or angry, she needs to be alone-she fears a man dismissing her womanly tears.
I was sometimes as guilty of playing the figure-me-out game as Amy was.
I was not a lovable child, and I’d grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul, and it’d be a scribble with fangs.
I was a man of jagged risings
I think that’s what it is, that it’s all happened at once, so I have the emotional bends.
I noticed Stucks was wearing—maybe ironically, possibly not—a T-shirt that read Save Gas, Fart in a Jar.
I must do better at adoring him like I used to. Nick responds to adoration. I just wish it felt more equal. My brain is so busy with Nick thoughts, it's a swarm inside my head: Nicknicknicknicknick! A...
I have a meanness inside of me, real as an organ.
I had no sympathy for drama queens.
I don’t think my father’s issue was with my mother in particular. He just didn’t like women. He thought they were stupid, inconsequential, irritating. That dumb bitch. It was his favorite phrase for a...
I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl. Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl.
I don’t know that anything would be any good anywhere, so it’s hard to gauge if this is better or worse, you know what I mean? Like: This place is miserable and I want to die, but I can’t think of any...
I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there—hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body—a Libby that’s telling me to get up, do something, grow up, m...
His nametag said Jose. I tried to see if he was missing any fingers. Mexicans don’t get cushy box jobs unless they’re owed. That’s the way plants down here work: The Mexicans get the shittiest, most d...