The voice that arises out of the silence is something no one can imagine until it is heard. It roars when it speaks, it lies to you and convinces you, it steals from you and leaves you without a single word of comfort.

Maybe some love was guaranteed. Maybe it fit inside you and around you like skin and bones.

I don't think I make much of a distinction between the 'real' and the 'fantastic.' They both seem to be threads in the same cloth as far as I'm concerned.

He believed in dreams, in endings that people told you could never happen, in disappointments reversed and luck that lasted.

She was so busy forgetting, she couldn't take a single step into the future.

I wasn't quite as certain that I knew her soul. When it came right down to it, I wasn't sure she knew me either.

My theory is that everyone at one time or another has been at the fringe of society in some way: an outcast in high school, a stranger in a foreign country, the best at something, the worst at something, the one who's different. Being an outsider is the one thing we all have in common.