Ignore how it feels when the only real talent you have is for hidding the truth. You have a God-given knack for commiting a terrible sin. It’s your calling. You have a natural gift for denial. A blessing.
If you lose your nerve before you hit the bottom, Tyler says, you never really succeed.
We use criticism as a fake participation.
We, each of us, can take control of the world.
If you’re male, and you’re Christian and living in America, your father is your model for God. And sometimes you find your father in your career.
If you just worked hard enough. If you just learned enough. Ran fast enough. Everything would turn out right, and your life would amount to something.
It’s one thing for my parents to behave all secular humanist and gamble with their own eternal souls; however it’s altogether not all right that they also gambled with mine: They placed their bets with such self-rightous bravado, but I’m the one who lost.
We drive west the rest of the night, away from where the sun will come up, trying to outrace it, trying not to see what it’s going to show us when we get home.
Hay gente que nace humana. Al resto nos cuesta toda la vida conseguirlo.
Where even if someone loves you enough to save your life, they still castrate you.
It sounds trite, but only because words make everything true sound trite. Because words always screw up what you’re trying to say.
It’s a Cinderella story, only at midnight she turns back into a fugitive.
The unreal is more powerful than the real. Because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it.
Evie says, “It’s not living alone if you keep a rifle under the bed.” I write: i know girls who say that about their dildos.
A sphinx. A mystery. A blank. Unknown. Undefined. Unknowable. Indefinable. Those were all the words Brandy used to describe me in my veils. Not just a story that goes and then, and then, and then, and then until you die.
The doorman leaned into my shoulder and said, “A lot of young people don’t know what they really want.
If there was a Hell, my mom said you’d go there for wearing fur coats or buying a cream rinse tested on baby rabbits by escaped Nazi scientists in France.
Please don’t feel hurt, Satan, but my parents raised me to believe you didn’t exist. My mom and dad said you and God were invented in the superstitious, backward pea brains of hillbilly preachers and Republican hypocrites.
The best fiction rises – yes, like a phoenix – out of the ashes of people’s sad, true disasters. We write in order to repeat the past.
I want you to know I won’t always be here,′ Fertility says, ’but I’ll always find you.