Ottessa Moshfegh

The heart is a moody, greedy thing, I suppose.

we could go out to the frozen lake and stand and shoot at the moon. Or to the beach, lie on our backs, make angels in the snow, shoot at the stars. Such were my romantic ideas for the evening with my new best friend

amazing what the mind will do when the heart is throbbing

Why should my heart ache for anyone but myself? If anyone was trapped and suffering and abused, it was me. I was the only one whose pain was real. Mine.

On the contrary, being kidnapped was something of a secret wish of mine. At least then I’d know that I mattered to someone, that I was of value. Violence made much more sense to me than any strained conversation.

I wondered what sort of ecstasy there was to be had without shame to incite it.

hibernation was self-preservational. I thought that it was going to save my life.

rustle in the draft

I loved Reva, but I didn’t like her anymore.

We’d been friends since college, long enough that all we had left in common was our history together, a complex circuit of resentment, memory, jealousy, denial,