I have no point in procrastinating any longer.

I want somebody to love, and I want somebody to love me. And nobody ever will. And that's why it hurts. Because it makes a difference. And when nobody cares, it makes you all mad inside and it makes you want to say things, tear up things, break things, get through the glass.

You're never ready for what you have to do. You just do it. That makes you ready.

Isolated, she managed somehow to feel free—albeit with a freedom that made her want to smash a hole in the very center of the universe.

I have to force myself even to move my eyeballs. It's so easy just to stare.

I’m not fit to occupy space. Excuse me for living.