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

No barrier was strong enough to keep out the movement of time.

It doesn't matter what people tell you. It doesn't matter what they might say. Sometimes you have to leave home. Sometimes, running away means you're headed in the exact right direction.

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

Unrequited love is so boring. Weeping under a blue-black sky is for suckers or maniacs.

He stepped off the pavement like a man jumping off a bridge, as calm as a swimmer with an ocean out below. Lucy had known what he was going to do the instant their eyes met. She'd know what he intended because she would have done the very same thing if she'd had his courage. Nothing was going to break his fall.

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