The Queen

I think sometimes your blood asks you a question. One that forces you to put yourself at risk for something you really need—a thing so important that the rest of your life hinges on it, and the penalty of not going for it means you’ll live half the life you could have.

The notion that adulthood is this place Harry and I were moving toward, and right now we’re collecting baggage, suitcases stuffed with stress and sadness, but we actually need those because what’s inside will furnish our new homes over in Adultland. And as soon as we get there, we’ll start collecting more so that when we die, the coroner’ll say it was anal cancer or heart failure, but really it was the weight of all we’d been carrying.

Known is problematic. Known isn’t beloved, it isn’t respected, it isn’t admired. It can be the most dehumanizing thing of all, becoming known.

What if you find out she lusts to skin you alive, harvesting Kleenex-sized sheets of flesh to consume like Fruit Roll-Ups?

People don’t, as they get lulled into the ridiculous belief that if they go along, play nicely and be agreeable, this maniac will do as he promised. They think that the longer they can persist without having to make a real choice, that life-and-death one, things might somehow, magically, just… work out.

Nothing gold can stay. The line captured Plum, sure, but it was as much about, I guess, how briefly any of us are really young. The part of our lives that was shortening by the minute, slipping through our fingers, and we’d never guess where the finish line lay until our chests snapped the tape.

What if you could hear the running hum of your closest friend's thoughts? What if you find out she lusts to skin you alive, harvesting Kleenex-sized sheets of flesh to consume like Fruit Roll-Ups?

Of every benefit conferred by obscene wealth, the best was that people treated you as they would a toddler waddling around with a load of shit in his diaper: everyone smiled pleasantly and plugged their noses, so long as the check cleared.

some experiences, maybe most of the important ones, are doorways you can’t step through again.