What you do, the way you think, makes you beautiful.
You see, freedom has a way of destroying things.
Nature didn't need an operation to be beautiful. It just was.
I guess sometimes you have to lie to find the truth.
Perhaps the logical conclusion of everyone looking the same is everyone thinking the same.
I can’t imagine anything worse than being required to have fun.
What happens when perfection isn't good enough?
Everyone in the world was programmed by the place they were born, hemmed in by their beliefs, but you had to at least try to grow your own brain.
With everything so perfect, reality seemed somehow fragile, as if the slightest interruption could imperil her pretty future... all of it felt as tenuous as a soap bubble, shivering and empty.