“Was it me? Was I too cold? Too inexperienced? Not pretty enough? Not good enough in bed? And when disloyal, seed-sowing scum buckets slept with other girls, why did women look inward to find fault in themselves?”

“You shouldn't have to convince anyone to choose you. There is no real choice in love.”

“Tell me a truth, Senna.""I don't know how," I breath."Then tell me a lie.""I don't love you," I say. I sink beneath the weight of it all.Isaac stirs behind me, and then he is leaning over me, his elbows on either side of my head."The truth is for the mind," he says. "Lies are for the heart. So let's just keep lying.”

“That's why writers write—to say things loudly with ink. To give feet to thoughts; to make quiet, still feelings loudly heard.”

“Humans seek connection above all else, and we are willing to destroy things to attain it.”

“He was like a jalapeño, bright and smooth, but dangerously hot. A small part of me wanted to bite him.”

“What did I get in return? Coldness and emotional detachment. You are selfish and bitter and you wouldn’t know a good thing if it fell out of the sky at your feet.”

“Women hold all the power. They should use it like a whip, not offer it up like a sacrifice.”

“What’s the difference?” I asked him. “Between the love of your life, and your soulmate?”“One is a choice, and one is not.”

“Tell me a truth, Senna.""I don't know how.""Then tell me a lie.""I don't love you.""The truth is for the mind," he says. "Lies are for the heart. So let's just keep lying.”

“Sometimes I hate him. When he does the dishes, he shakes off each one before setting it in the drying rack. Water flies everywhere. A couple of drops always hit me in the face. I have to leave the room to avoid smashing a plate against his head.”