“I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.”

“Isn't it ironic . . . we ignore those who adore us, adore those who ignore us, hurt those who love us, and love those who hurt us.Every flaw he held and every perfection he flaunted made her love him even more."I hate this feeling. Like I'm here, but I'm not. Like someone cares. But they don't. Like I belong somewhere else, anywhere but here, and escape lies just past that snowy window, cool and crisp as the February air.”

“I'm in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.”

“I don’t belong here. I know that. But I don’t belong anywhere else, either. And that is at the heart of the black depression pressing down on me, flattening me. I have no place. No home. Sex, but no real affection. I am kept, but not cherished.”

“Do you know how beautiful you are?' I shook my head 'I'm not. But you make me fell like I am.' I wanted to be beautiful. To him. For him. I didn't care how anybody else saw me. Only Ethan.”

“All I can do is lie here, brain turning somersaults. It's nights like these when memories stir, whipping themselves into stiff peaks of pain.”

“I fell into a big pit of black depression. That happens sometimes, when too much shit gets flung at me at once. It's like all the external pressure sucks into me, then tries to escape again. But it can't. So it builds. Throbs. Makes me feel like my skin is anxious to split. I think that feeling is why some people cut - little slices so they don't shred completely.”