It's not finding what's lost, it's understanding what you've found.

You have to choose the voice you are going to trust. You can't listen to everyone.

When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure.

I thought that love was a river, endless and deep. I thought it merely happened, washing over you like water. It was nothing to search for, nothing to force. I didn't understand that even when we can't control our fate, we alone have the last say in matters of the heart. We can give it freely, even in the worst of times, even when it isn't returned.

Real love, after all, was worth the price you paid, however briefly it might last.

I feel as if when you love a book it becomes a part of you whether you have it on your shelves or not.

Are people drawn to each other because of the stories they carry inside? At the library I couldn’t help but notice which patrons checked out the same books. They appeared to have nothing in common, but who could tell what a person was truly made of? The unknown, the riddle, the deepest truth. I noticed them all: the ones who’d lost their way, the ones who’d lived their lives in ashes, the ones who had to prove themselves, the ones who, like me, had lost the ability to feel.