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Kindle Notes & Highlights
Draw a picture of my soul, and it’d be a scribble with fangs.
Coffee goes great with sudden death.
I can feel a better version of me somewhere in there—hidden behind a liver or attached to a bit of spleen within my stunted, childish body—a Libby that’s telling me to get up, do something, grow up, move on.
It was surprising that you could spend hours in the middle of the night pretending things were OK, and know in thirty seconds of daylight that that simply wasn’t so.
How could you kill something you cared enough to name?
