“Are you going to redye it?" "No. My mother hates it, so I'm going to keep it," I said.”

“Why do you persist in being so frivolous, Urgit?""Why don't we just call it a symptom of my incipient madness?""You're not going to go mad," she said firmly."Of course I'm going to go mad, mother. I'm rather looking forward to it.”

“Aren't you going to answer it?" Lopez asked."I'm afraid it's my mother," I said."She calls on Sundays?""No, she calls whenever things are going badly.”

“When I grow up, I'm going to be my mother.”

“My first words, as I was being born [...] I looked up at my mother and said, 'that's the last time I'm going up one of those.”

“I'm a survivor. I was thinking about what you said, and you're absolutely right - I have to let go to continue. This devastating news is not going to slow me down. I'm my own person. I always have been. I've never believed in those people who blame everything on their parents - you know, I'm a fuck-up because my father was a fuck-up. Or I'm a drunk because my mother was an alcoholic. So my father was a hit man? Maybe. So he murdered my mother? Maybe. I don't know any of these things for a fact. But I'm accepting them, and I'm beginning to realize they're not part of who I am.”