Eileen

by Ottessa Moshfegh

That is what I imagined life to be—one long sentence of waiting out the clock.

I didn’t believe in heaven, but I did believe in hell.

My curiosity for the stars is obvious: I wanted something to tell me my future was bright.

I can’t say I’ve ever really understood what it means to be Catholic.

If there’s anything I’ve learned to detest, it is nostalgia.

A grown woman is like a coyote—she can get by on very little. Men are more like house cats. Leave them alone for too long and they’ll die of sadness.

Violence was just another function of the body, no less unusual than sweating or vomiting.

I learned the long way about love, tried every house on the block before I got it right. Now, finally, I live alone.