Daisy Jones & The Six

It’s the ones who never loved you enough that come to you when you can’t sleep. You always wonder what the future might have held and you’ll never know. Maybe you almost don’t want to know

I had absolutely no interest in being somebody else’s muse.
I am not a muse.
I am the somebody.

And she said, “A part of me wishes you wanted kids, because my kids make me so happy. But … I think in order to be happy like I’m happy, you need different things. And I want you to have whatever those things are.” And I started crying, then. Because somebody understood.

You can justify anything. If you’re narcissistic enough to believe that the universe conspires for and against you—which we all are, deep down—then you can convince yourself you’re getting signs about anything and everything

That’s how it was back then. I was just supposed to be the inspiration for some man’s great idea.
Well, fuck that.
That’s why I started writing my own stuff.

I had felt too much vulnerability too young. I didn’t want to do it anymore

There’s this peace that comes with knowing you have a person in the world who would do anything for you, that you would do anything for. She was the first time I ever had that.

We love broken, beautiful people. And it doesn’t get much more obviously broken and more classically beautiful than Daisy Jones.

Daisy would often ask to get her hair cut just because she loved her hairdresser, she would ask neighbors if she could walk their dogs, there was even a family joke about the time Daisy tried to bake a birthday cake for the mailman

People like it when you make them sad, I think. But people hate it when you leave them sad.