I heard a sigh, as though the books were breathing. I felt that this was where I belonged. This was where I lived.

Jill and I have known each other our whole lives. One house separates our houses but we act as if it doesn't exist. We met before we were born and we'll probably still know each other after we die. At least, that's the way we're planning it.

My grief was cold. It was nothing to share. It was nothing to speak about, nothing to feel.

I think love is a huge factor in fiction and in real life. Is there a risk? Always. In fiction and in life

I never even believed in happiness. I didn't think it existed. Now look at me. I'm ready to believe in just about anything.

My mother's blood that would last forever after. The blood of my brother, my grandfather, my father.

Emily Brontë's "Wuthering Heights" was extremely important to me.