“They're fake bullets, so why do I feel like Im bleeding out?”

“Why do some memories bleed out of nowhere and others stay locked behind doors?”

“Why are you doing this to yourself? When something bad happens, why do you have to pick at it until it bleeds all over again?”

“I don't know what I was thinking, coming out here. There are no silver bullets in life, there's just the long, messy climb out of the pit you've dug youself.”

“I'm lonely. Why do you think I had to learn to act so independent? I also get mad too quickly, and I hog the covers, and my second toe is longer than my big one. My hair has it's own zip code. Plus, I get certifiably crazy when I've got PMS. You don't love someone because they're perfect. You love them in spite of the fact that they're not.”

“Where did you go?""To the end of the driveway," my mother says. "I was nine months pregnant; that was the maximum distance I could waddle without feeling as if my uterus was falling out."I wince. "Do you have to be quite so graphic?""What would you like me to call it, Zoe? A fetal living room?”

“You want to do something about it - take action, scream at them, tell them they're idiots - but you can't. Being on the fringe is the most disempowering feeling. You get so used to the world being a certain way, there seems to be no escape from it.”