“I want to make a memorial for our turkey. Never has a bird been so tortured to provide such a lousy dinner.”

“There is no safer. There’s not even safe, never has been.”

“I have survived. I am here. Confused, screwed up, but here. So, how can I find my way? Is there a chain saw of the soul, an ax I can take to my memories or fears?”

“This is wonderful, wonderful! Be the bird. You are the bird. Sacrifice yourself to abandoned family values....”

“I would never be popular. I didn't want to be; I liked being shy. I'd never be the smartest or the hottest or the happiest. By eighth grade you start to figure out your limits.”

“I live in the borderlands. The word ghost sounds like memory. The word therapy means exorcism. My visions echo and multiplymultiply. I don't know how to figure out what they mean. I can't tell where they start or if they will end. But I know this. If they shrink my head any more, or float me away on an ocean of pills, I will never return.”

“I don’t know how they do it. I don’t know how anybodydoes it, waking up every morning and eating and movingfrom the bus to the assembly line, where the teacherbotsinject us with Subject A and Subject B, and passingevery test they give us. Our parents provide the list ofingredients and remind us to make healthy choices: onesport, two clubs, one artistic goal, community service, nogrades below a B, because really, nobody’s average, notaround here. It’s a dance with complicated footwork anda changing tempo.I’m the girl who trips on the dance floor and can’t findher way to the exit. All eyes on me.”