Identical

by Ellen Hopkins

You can’t trust a man, any man, any more than you can put your faith in a rabid dog, not even your own dog, one who would never hurt you, except he’s rabid.

Christian. Like Christ. So why are so many Christians unlike him?

Most of all, I like my belly emptied, even temporarily, of food. Of fat. Of pain.

I’m in love. And I like how that feels. And I hate how that feels. Because love is an invention of fiction writers.

yesterday influences today, thus creates tomorrow.

Love is meaningless without trust.

I love you, too. But love doesn’t make me drink.

Happy Ever After Is a concept I’ll never believe in.