It makes me think that everyone is very wrong, that love should have many conditions. Love should require both partners to be their very best at all times. Unconditional love is an undisciplined love,...
It is always consoling to think of suicide; it’s what gets one through many a bad night.
It doesn't matter, because I have found my match. It's Nick, laid-back and calm, smart and fun and uncomplicated. Untortured, happy. Nice. Big penis.
If we want to play the stud or the smart-ass or the fool, we know the words to say. We are all working from the same dog-eared script. It’s a very difficult era in which to be a person, just a real, a...
I'm so much happier now that I'm dead. Technically missing. Soon to be presumed dead. Gone. And my lazy lying shitting oblivious husband will go to prison for my murder. Nick Dunne took my pride and m...
I'm not someone who can be depended one five days a week. Monday Tuesday Wednesday Thursday Friday? I don't even get out of bed five days in a row-I often don't remember to eat five days in a row. Rep...
I woke up on my sister's couch with a raging hangover and an urge to kill my wife.
I was not raised by big-dreamer parents who pictured their child as a future president. I was raised by pragmatic parents who pictured their child as a future office worker of some sort, making a livi...
I think, immediately, that there is something wrong with us, perhaps unfixable, if my husband wouldn't think to tell me this. Sometimes I feel it's his personal game, that he's in some sort of undecla...
I think this experience will make him a better person. Or at least a sorrier one.
I take a giant breath, roll my anger up into a red rubber ball, and mentally kick it out into space.
I suppose it’s not a compromise if only one of you considers it such, but that was what our compromises tended to look like.
I stopped loving you. Why? You stopped loving me. We’re a sick, fucking toxic Möbius strip, Amy. We weren’t ourselves when we fell in love, and when we became ourselves—surprise!—we were poison.
I started on the opening page of my own book.'I am a cheating, weak-spined, women-fearing coward, and i am the hero of your story. Because the woman I cheated on - my wife, Amy Elliott Dunne - is a so...
I remember always being baffled by other children. I would be at a birthday party and watch the other kids giggling and making faces, and I would try to do that too, but I wouldn't understand why.
I realized I was humming Uncle John’s Band to myself for no good reason.
I often don’t say things out loud, even when I should. I contain and compartmentalize to a disturbing degree: In my belly-basement are hundreds of bottles of rage, despair, fear, but you’d never guess...
I need to be ambushed, caught unawares, like some sort of feral love-jackal. I’m too self-conscious otherwise.
I like to think I am confident and secure and mature enough to know Nick loves me without him constantly proving it. I don’t need pathetic dancing monkeyscenarios to repeat to my friends, I am content...
I like the name. Like in Breakfast at Tiffany’s and Audrey Hepburn’s cat was named Cat.’ We