“We’re not friends, Braden.” I pulled his office door open. “No. We’re not.”

“Sometimes you don’t get to close one door before another opens. We’re not all given that luxury, for closure.”

“For the record, we’re not friends. (Stryker)For the record, I don’t care. (Savitar)”

“He left the next morning, searching for a city with light that reminded him of me. He would mail me empty envelopes and boxes, I would take them into my closet, shut the door, and quickly open them. A flash of foreign light would fill the room, but only for a moment. I would whisper ‘this is what we’re like, this is what we’re like.’…”

“As different as we all are, there’s one thing most young women have in common: We’re all brought up to feel like there’s something wrong with us. We’re too fat. We’re dumb. We’re too smart. We’re not ladylike enough - ‘stop cursing, chewing with your mouth open, speaking your mind’. We’re too slutty. We’re not slutty enough.Fuck that.You’re not too fat. You’re not too loud. You’re not too smart. You’re not unladylike. There is nothing wrong with you.”

“We’re all a little mad, my friend. Keeps life interesting.”