Tarah DeWitt

“Before you judge a man, walk a mile in his shoes. After that who cares? He’s a mile away, and you’ve got his shoes.”- Billy Connolly

“You need some friends your own age. Or therapy.” Lance says tiredly as he massages his temples behind the bar.
“I’ve seen a therapist biweekly for eight years, Lance, and I have friends.”
“Then why aren’t you going to them with this Gossip Girl shit? I’m tired, Meyer. I’m 63. I can’t pretend to give a shit,” he groans.

“What could go wrong?” he asks, and I can’t help the thought that emerges in response: Famous last words.

And, okay, this is also a little bit for James Acaster on that episode of The Great British Bake Off when he said the most relatable thing every creative spirit has experienced:

“Started making it, had a breakdown. Bon appétit!”

Hope doesn’t have the power to cancel out worry, anyway.

Frankly, I’ve burned myself too many times on hot things to ever imagine that sort of death. The raw sting of a good burn is enough to give me chills.

I’ve been living and loving in half-measures for years. Living my life in pencil, because I don’t think I can get shit right the first time.

“You don’t put a burnt cake back in the oven,”

I miss you, too sounds glib. You have been missing from me is more accurate. There’s a void where you lived in me.

Still, sometimes I wished for a little more romance, and when I tried to coax it out of Ellis, he did his best. He usually found an alternate route of his own. Something unexpected and just as effective in the end.