“So Bill thought she was being whiny. She couldn't help it.She was inches away from a breakdown."I hate this job.I hate this place. I hate this stupid solstice party and this stupid pheasant souffle-""Lucinda will be at the party tonight," Bill said suddenly. His voice was infuriatingly calm. "She happens to adore the Constances' pheasant souffle.”

“She was plain and far from skinny or petite. As for parties...she'd rather be alone in a corner somewhere reading. She hated being nice to people she didn't like because her father wanted contributions. She hated being fake. All she wanted was to be herself.”

“I hate you' she said to me one afternoon. 'I really, really hate you.' Call me sensitive, but I couldn't help but take it personally.”

“She’s pure evil. Stay on her good side.” “And here I thought she hated me because I don’t sing stupid songs.”

“The older you get, the fewer slumber parties there are, and I hate that. I liked slumber parties. What happened to them?”

“Jump way back to one time, Evie and me did this fashion shoot in a junk yard, in a slaughterhouse, in a mortuary. We'd go anywhere to look good by comparison, and what I realize is mostly what I hate about Evie is the fact that she's so vain and stupid and needy. But what I hate most is how she's just like me. What I really hate is me so I hate pretty much everybody.”