Some things, when they change, never do return to the way they once were. Butterflies for instance, and women who've been in love with the wrong man too often.

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

The sky is already purple; the first few stars have appeared, suddenly, as if someone had thrown a handful of silver across the edge of the world.

The best way to die is when your living

Love was like that, like a dream you didn't quite understand, one in which you didn't necessarily know what you were looking at until it was right in front of you.

I have crossed over to a place where I never thought I’d be. I am someone I would have never imagined. A secret. A dream. I am this, body and soul. Burn me. Drown me. Tell me lies. I will still be who I am.

After a while, the characters I'm writing begin to feel real to me. That's when I know I'm heading in the right direction