Quotes

Feminism comes to all things, it seems, but it comes to recognizing homicidal rage the slowest.

Two hours later, Marco was in my crimson-covered bed at the Hotel Campo de’ Fiori. “Mia cara, ti ho perso così,” he said, “odori come i fiori che crescono dalla figa di Venere. Come mi manchi leccarti, gustarti, il mio sogno Americano.” My darling, I missed you so. You smell like flowers growing from Venus’s pussy. How I miss licking you, tasting

But that narrative structure is only as true as time, which is to say it’s as much a construct as a house or a dress or a turducken.

Naturally, I was on the Pill. I knew from a young age that motherhood was a cage I never wanted to inhabit. Children make me turn on the oven and reach for the rosemary.

It’s such an intimate thing, to witness another’s death. Orgasms are a dime a dozen. Any old human woman can see a man orgasm. We so rarely get to see them die; it has been my greatest gift and my most divine privilege.

Some men need to witness female anger to believe in that woman’s love. Some women need to get angry to experience that love. Some people grow together like horrible species of lichen. My parents, I learned, were precisely this kind of symbiotic organism.

From my mother, I learned that beauty was armor. From my teenage friends, I learned that femininity was junk. They were both right.

Emma is my only real friend, though the jury is still out—the metaphorical jury, of course. The actual one handed down their decision on November 13, 2014, just a few days after Emma testified against me, but I digress.

It becomes annoying only when they start talking, as if I’d have any interest in anything that comes out of their mouths.