Hidden Bodies

It is possible to know people. They show you who they are. You just have to be looking.

The real horror of my life is not that I’ve killed some terrible people. The real horror is that the people I’ve loved didn’t love me back.

Love is kind, love is patient but also, mainly, above all—yes—Love is perverted.

We all get our hearts broken. We get fucked up and throw up and we cry and listen to sad songs and say we’re never doing that again. But to be alive is to do it again. To love is to risk everything

A book lets you choose how much of the blood you want to see. A book gives you the permission to see the story as you want, as your mind directs.

And there is nothing more terrifying than realizing the one who knows you best loves you least.

Your skin is a waste of space because there's no heart inside of you

Memories are all the same at their core; it’s just us trying to keep each other alive, the best parts anyway.

There is nothing more terrifying than realizing that the one who knows you best loves you least, pities you even.

It is my destiny to know people who abuse punctuation.

Just eat it and shit it and be done with it and don’t feel special cuz you eat that shit with someone because in the end we all shit alone!

She looks out the window at Reno, which looks like Vegas and yet also looks nothing like Vegas. It’s lesser, smaller, worse.

Los Angeles is full of places to hide a body, but when the person inside the body doesn’t love you, it’s not an easy thing, turning that breathing person into a dead one.

Making It in Hollywood is the most disgusting phrase in the English language. It’s more disturbing than prolific serial killer and rare terminal illness.

People are so lonely, they spend their birthdays on the Internet, thanking people for wishing them a happy birthday, people who only know it’s their birthday because Facebook told them.

Amy is a Sharpie; she's passionate.

We're like, do whatever. Chill out. Be gay. Be straight. I mean, what is the big deal? We're all gonna die anyway, you know? Who wants to spend their precious life hating?

But I can’t stand the way you make me feel so good, like, better than I ever felt, and then you tear it all away, like deep down, you don’t want me to be happy.

There is nothing remarkable about this 'guac', about any 'guac', and California needs to calm the fuck down.

We don’t care, you know? We’re like, do whatever. Chill out. Be gay. Be straight. I mean, what is the big deal? We’re all gonna die anyway, you know? Who wants to spend their precious life hating?” I

This is why people like writing. You visit old friends without having to go on Facebook and see what they’re up to and deal with what idiots called FOMO. You make them into what you want them to be, the people they could be if only they were braver, smarter.

And really, when you grow up, and get over yourself, when you fuck narcissism and leave the hashtags at the door, you see what really matters in life.

It's not the past if it's not finished.

So I Lyfted to Home Depot, where I bought random stuff, rope and duct tape, plastic bags, cable ties, and plastic gloves. The girl at the register winked and said she’s also a big fan of Fifty Shades and this is what has become of our society. Fucking and killing are the same damn thing. Now

We are built to walk. Not to SoulCycle and jog and hike. Walking is mental. You sharpen your thoughts and process your emotions.

He snorts more cocaine, I could pull over and roll him out the door, but he's on so much blow right now that he would probably just turn into a roadrunner, catch up to me, and jump back in.

...you can love some all you want, but you can't go into their past and become a part of their formative years.

I don't like this culture of reading a book and spitting out an immediate reaction.

There is no such thing as a one-night stand. Sometimes, what you do for one night destroys your future.

It would be nice to have something alive to hold on to right now, something to love me, something with a beating heart that I can feel, something to be with me as I sit here, in hell, trying to figure it out.