Sometimes, when you wear a mask too long, you find it sticks to the skin.

Because if a woman can't trust the man who said he'd love her forever, who in this world can you trust?

How do we ever trust each other again, when we both know how good we are at lying?

I’ve seen shy introverts become kings and queens, the ugly become beautiful and the beautiful repulsive. Something happens, something no one can explain. Just for a few moments, you become someone else. And that’s the best feeling there is in the world.

She’s insecure, impulsive, fragile, emotionally incontinent, can’t handle rejection, and although she tries extremely hard to hide it, she craves approval like a junkie craving a fix. What can I say, Frank? She’s an actress.

I think that for Claire Wright, reality is whatever she wants it to be.

You are a crazy, evil woman,” Patrick says, staring at me. “You don’t know how crazy,” I promise him. “You haven’t seen anything yet.

And I smile at him, happy. Because it turns out the only thing better than sharing your own worst secrets is when the person you love shares his with you.

Who is the real Claire Wright? The one sitting here, with her precious green card permit in front of her, exchanging pleasantries with the man who provided it? Or the one who fell for the darkness she sensed deep inside the only man she couldn’t seduce? Which is the performance: Who I was then? Or who I am now?