[Janis] went antiquing with us because she and our firstborn, Matthew, were in the market for some bedroom furniture.

Leduc, as is true of many other unhappies, is largely a confessional writer: her subject is herself, and her gift is a driving, vivacious power that turns her incurable, inveterate unhappiness into a series of dramas […]

I'm taking you away to the country for a rest. It's for your own good!

Let him pump you good, and shoot a fucking hot cumball in your guts. You fucking pieces of shit.