— I'm thirty-five!
— Oh, shut the fuck up, I'm a hundred and forty.
When Charles Dickens wrote: "it was the best of times, it was the worst of times" — I believe he must have been having an affair with his married ex-boyfriend.
I like my money where I can see it – hanging in my closet.
I’m looking for love. Real love. Ridiculous, inconvenient, consuming, can’t-live-without-each-other love.
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