The Hand You Hold The Longest Is

She Was Too Much—for Zenith, Ohio. She’d Tried At Times To Make Herself Smaller, To Fit Neatly Into The Ordered Lines Of Expectation. But Somehow, She Always Managed To Say Or Do Something Outrageous—she’d Accept A Dare To Climb A Flagpole, Or Make A Slightly Risqué Joke, Or Go Riding In Cars With Boys—and Suddenly She Was “that Awful O’neill Girl” All Over Again.

I'm Floating Inside My Skin. I Could Go On Floating Like This For Days. Right Now, The Real World With Its Heartbreak And Disappointments Is Just A Pulse Against The Protective Membrane We've Drunk Ourselves Into. It's Somewhere Outside Us, Waiting." A Great And Terrible Beauty, Page 141, By

I Thought Research Would Be More Glamorous, Somehow. I'd Give The Librarian A Secret Code Word And He'd Give Me The One Book I Needed And Whisper The Necessary Page Numbers. Like A Speakeasy. With Books.

What Makes A Girl A Girl? What Makes A Guy A Guy? Do You Have To Be What They Want You To Be? Or Do You Stop And Listen To That Voice Inside You? I Know Who I Am. I'm Petra West. And I'm A Girl. You Want Me To Sleep Somewhere Else, Fine. Whatever. But I'm Not Going To Pretend To Be Somebody I'm Not. I've Done Enough Of That.

The Trouble With Morning Is That It Comes Well Before Noon.