But to Fitz she’d always be invisible. An impossible task of face and body for which he had yet to conquer. And should he somehow manage to crack her open like rotten fruit on the vine, he’d only find decay and ugliness, from which she had to assume he’d run. Damaged goods were damaged goods.

"Some people have no rational process. They walk through life with no filter between their brains and their mouths, no self control, imposing their insecurities upon the world around them. Self loathing coupled with a position of power, even if only for a short time, is a dangerous combination and unfortunately bestowed upon the weakest form of human beings".

I am wretched. Destitute.

In the end, money is just money and all we truly have is each other. That, my dear, is the currency with which we should base our lives. Ja? A shoulder to lean on. A back to stand on. All the things I wish to be for you. If you will only let me.

My ideal date would involve painful silence. My ideal date wouldn't involve me.

He was ugly, himself. Weird-ugly. But ugliness in a man doesn't matter, much. Ugliness in a woman is her life.