“It's not as if I want him to gawk at me, but... I'm lost. I don't know what I want anyway!”

“I know where I'm going and I know the truth, and I don't have to be what you want me to be. I'm free to be what I want.”

“The parts of me that hurt the worst want me to write something for them, but I can't. I don't know what to say. I'm lost in all this sadness, and so are they.”

“What do you want to want to be, anyway?""I don't know; I guess what I want to be is a good Catholic.""What you should say"--he told me--"what you should say is that you want to be a saint.”

“I don't want to be an oddity, a freak, or a curiosity. I don't want to be the car wreck that people slow down to gawk at.”

“I don't know whether it's because I don't love him, or because I can't love him for demanding something like that from me. Or because he doesn't know me for squat. But I couldn't give him my whole life. And that's what he wanted from me. He wanted everything, and I wanted him to love me for what I had already offered.”