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Remember to speak from the scar, not the wound. Anonymous
“What’s an edema?” “A collection of fluid in the tissue or cavities of the body.” Sara told the jury, “It’s basically swelling. You injure yourself—like you bump your knee on your desk. The body sends fluid as a way of saying, ‘Hey, be careful with your knee while I try to repair it.’”
“What’s the statistic? Every two minutes in America another woman is raped?”
“It’s funny how you never meet a white supremacist who’s also a feminist.”
Sometimes, the world could make you feel so numb that the only emotion that could cut through was pain.
Change tells you who you really are.”
When you work really hard to reach a goal, it’s almost depressing when you achieve it, because what now? What’s the next goal?”
Doctors have the highest suicide rates of any profession. It’s difficult to get help. Depending on the state, we’re required to renew our license to practice every two or three years. All but a few require you to disclose whether or not you’ve sought therapy or psychiatric help. If you lie, you can lose your license. If you say you’ve gotten help, you could lose your license.”
“Ah. You’re marrying another cop.” He was grinning again, but there was a sharpness to it. “You always liked a man who knew how to swing his dick around. What do they call women like you? Police pals?” Sara didn’t like his biting tone. “Badge Bunnies.” “And the dick swinging?” “When it’s that big, you don’t have to swing it.”
She loved her son more than her own life, but Jeremy was walking proof of how reckless a fifteen-year-old girl could be.
Faith thought of her children again, how her biggest worry with Jeremy was that he would fall in love with a girl who broke his heart and her biggest fear with Emma was that she would fall in love with a man who broke her bones. Or worse.
“When you’re part of a group, it’s hard being the only person who disagrees with what the group is doing. Easier to go along to get along. Otherwise, you’re completely isolated.”
People who are doing bad things don’t like being told they’re doing bad things. You call them out on their bullshit, they’ll try to destroy you.”
He looked at her again. Right in the eye. “You can’t tell me what to do with my life.” Tears streamed down her face. She was losing him. “I absolutely can. I gave birth to you.” “Once,” he said. “Twenty-two years ago.”
“Nobody warns you that ninety-nine percent of being a mother is walking around in a daze asking yourself what the fuck just happened.”
No woman ever gets celebrated like a bad woman.”
