In A Way, I Was Incredibly Proud

I Don't Give Books As Gifts. Books Are Extremely Personal, And I Would Hate To Give Someone A Book That They Don't Like Or Want, Because It Would Break My Heart If They Didn't Read It.

Oh, That's Just Great. I Come All The Way Back Here, Risking Major Brain Cell Burnout, And You Don't Even Believe Me? I'm Basically Guaranteeing Myself A Lifetime Of Heartbreak, And All You Have To Say Is That You Think I'm Not Right In The Head?

It's What's Known As An Origin Myth. What Happened To Me? That's No Myth.

It Just Goes To Show That What One Person Considers A "bad Attitude" Might Actually Just Be Total Frustration Over Being Pushed Beyond The Brink Of One's Mental And Physical Endurance.

It’s My Own Fault, Really. For Believing In Fairy Tales. Not That I Ever Mistook Them For Actual Historical Fact, Or Anything. But I Did Grow Up Believing That For Every Girl, There’s A Prince Out There Somewhere. All She Has To Do Is Find Him. Then It’s On With The Happily Ever After. So You Can Only Imagine What Happened When I Found Out. That My Prince Really Is One. A Prince. No, I Really Mean It. He’s An Actual Prince.