My Name Is Salmon, Like The Fish;

If I Shut My Eyes, I Believed, I Would Disappear. To Make It Through, I Had To Be Present The Whole Time.

She Didn't Even Have To Smile, And She Rarely Did Outside Her House--it Was The Eyes, Her Dancer's Carriage, The Way She Seemed To Deliberate Over The Smallest Movement Of Her Body.

These Things, She Felt, Were Not To Be Passed Around Like Disingenuous Party Favors. She Kept An Honor Code With Her Journals And Her Poems. 'inside, Inside,' She Would Whisper Quietly To Herself When She Felt The Urge To Tell.

One Thing About Failing Repeatedly: If You're Still Doing It After You've Failed That Much, You Really Mean It.

I Live In A World Where Two Truths Coexist: Where Both Hell And Hope Lie In The Palm Of My Hand