Cassie Wright knows, the moment you make yourself available to any man, he starts to take you for granted.
Language, she said, was just our way to explain away the wonder and glory of the world. To deconstruct. To dismiss. She said people can’t deal with how beautiful the world really is. How it can’t be explained and understood.
Did you ever think about life as a metaphor for television?
Didn’t I realize that each of us is a sacred, unique snowflake of special unique specialness?
Besides, it happens fast for some people and slow for some, accidents or gravity, but we all end up mutilated. Most women know this feeling of being more and more invisible everyday.
How much can you know about yourself if you’ve never been in a fight?
Imagine how you’d feel if your whole life turned into a job you couldn’t stand.
It’s the Marilyn Monroe school of medicine where enough of any drug will cure any disease.
You could stab a knife right through my heart and you’d be too late.
I want my whole life lined with a topical anesthetic.
Sticks and stones may break your bones but words can hurt like hell.
Give me lust, baby. Flash. Give me malice. Flash. Give me detached existentialist ennui. Flash. Give me rampant intellectualism as a coping mechanism. Flash.
Our purest form of joy comes when people we envy get hurt. That most genuine form of joy.
Get married before the sex gets boring or you’ll never get married.
Sorry, mom. Sorry, God.
If you start in the pit of despair with these profane, awful things, even a glimmer of hope or awareness is going to occur that’s much brighter coming from this dark, awful beginning.
Some of the best ideas I get seem to happen when I’m doing mindless manual labor or exercise. I’m not sure how that happens, but it leaves me free for remarkable ideas to occur.
These distraction-oholics. These focus-ophobics.
Me with nothing left to lose, plotting my big revenge in the spotlight. Give me violent revenge fantasies as a coping mechanism.
Find good in what the world says is evil.