Anyone can smile on their best day. I like to meet a man who can smile on his WORST.

I must work harder to achieve my goal of not seeking approval from those whose approval I'm not even sure is important to me.

I have to introduce the part of me that feels like a winner to the part of me convinced I’m a loser, and see if they can’t agree to exist somewhere closer to the middle.

How many lives do you need to live before you fine someone worth dying for?

I wonder if this is how people always get close: They heal each other's wounds; they repair the broken skin.

Everything looks stark and vivid and frozen, as though drawn precisely and outlined in ink - parents' smiles frozen, camera flashes blinding, mouths open and white teeth glinstening, dark glossy hair and deep blue sky and unrelenting light, everyone drowning in light - everything so clear and perfect I'm sure it must already be a memory, or a dream.