This Was Love, I Supposed, And Eventually

Sometimes I Ask Myself If Writing Novels Is Even Respectable.

Shopping For Clothes Is Like Masturbation - Everyone Does It, But It Isn't Very Interesting And Therefore Should Be Done Alone, In An Embarrassed Fashion, And Never Be The Topic Of Party Conversation.

That Is What Is Wrong With Cold People. Not That They Have Ice In Their Souls - We All Have A Bit Of That - But That They Insist Every Word And Deed Mirror That Ice. They Never Learn The Beauty Or Value Of Gesture. The Emotional Necessity. For Them, It Is All Honesty Before Kindness, Truth Before Art. Love Is Art, Not Truth. It's Like Painting Scenery.

I Wished For Eternal And Intriguing Muteness. I Would Be The Mysterious Dumb Girl, The Enigmatic Elf. The Human Voice No Longer Interested Me.

If You're Suicidal, And You Don't Actually Kill Yourself, You Become Known As 'wry.