"Deep inside, she knew who she was, and that person was smart and kind and often even funny, but somehow her personality got lost somewhere between her heart and her mouth, and she found herself saying the wrong thing or, more often, nothing at all."
"The morning I got up to begin this book I coughed. Something was coming out of my throat: it was strangling me. I broke the thread which held it and yanked it out. I went back to bed and said: I have just spat out my heart." - Anaïs Nin, House of Incest