Our love of what is beautiful does not lead to extravagance; our love of the things of the mind does not make us soft.

I love that feeling of, you know, we are women, we are so different, our imperfections are what make us unique and beautiful.

We love even when our love is not requited.

We can't command our love, but we can our actions.

Never mind. The self is the least of it. Let our scars fall in love.

I wanted to make the violence beautiful in order to heighten our revulsion.