"I had no proof that I had the stuff to be an artist, though I hungered to be one" (Chapter 1, p. 11).

"I dreamed of meeting an artist to love and support and work with side by side" (Chapter 1, p. 12).

"He contained, even at an early age, a stirring and the desire to stir" (Chapter 1, p. 13).

"Rimbauld held the keys to a mystical language that I devoured even as I could not fully decipher it. My unrequited love for him was as real to me as anything I had experieced" (Chapter 1, p. 23).

"I can't say I fit in, but I felt safe" (Chapter 1, p. 30).

"He looked quite different in his white shirt and tie, like a Catholic schoolboy" (Chapter 2, p. 36).

"I had a romantic view of drugs and considered them sacred, reserved for poets, jazz musicians, and Indian rituals" (Chapter 2, p. 39).

"He exuded a mixture of beauty and self-loathing...