Don't get so flattered. The only reason I follow you so closely is to never do what you are doing and then become who you are.

What life could have been and what it actually is, the difference reflects your measure of dumbness

Grief was dagger-shaped and sharp and pointed inward. It was made of fresh loss and old sorrow. Rendered and forged and sometimes polished. Irene Finney had taken her daughter’s death and to that sorrow she’d added a long life of entitlement and disappointment, of privilege and pride. And the dagger she’d fashioned was taking a brief break from slashing her insides, and was now pointed outward.

• …transferring her hunger to eat into a hunger to hurt. He didn’t turn round. She knew she should let it go, but it was too late. She’d chewed the insult over, torn it apart and swallowed it. The insult was part of her now.

Being proud isn't bad, unless it's hurting others.

We hurt people, when we give ourselves more value than others.