“Rosamond, what are you doing here?” “You invited me for the weekend, don't you remember?” “But how could you be so cruelly literal, darling?”

“I invite you to consider anew what you know and what you have; what you are here for and where you are going; and how you are going to do what you have come here to do. p 13”

“What... what are you doing here?"He's shaking his head as he walks my way; a steaming coffee mug is in his hand."What am I doing here? I live here.""Y-you do? How did I get here?"He starts to laugh. "You don't remember?""No... I really don't."He places the mug in front of me. "You called me on your cell. I found you spaced out of your mind in an alley behind the bar. You were talking to a cat. You claimed it was your mother.”

“how hard you worked for what you wanted. how cruelly fate betrayed you in the end.”

“No one could possibly judge you more cruelly than you do yourself.”

“And here's what I realized: You Sly Girls don't cry when you watch the big-face parties on the feeds, just because you weren't invited. You don't stay friends with people you hate, just to bump your face rank. And even though nobody knows what you're doing out here, you don't feel invisible at all. Do you?No one answered, but they were listening.Fame is radically stupid, that's all. So I want to try something else.”