The grass he walked through was new and a sweet smell clung to his clothes. There was blue dye on his hands from the wild irises... that the color of the sky was a shade that could never be replicated in any photograph, just as Heaven could never be seen from the confines of Earth.

Love is worth the sum of itself, and nothing more.

That was the way illness appeared in a house, in the corners, in between floorboards, on the hooks in the closet, along with the sweaters and coats.

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

When I write for teens, I feel I can cut through everything and get to the bare bones. I can get straight into the emotional world of the character.

Sally...can no longer think of love as a reality, or even as a possibility, however remote.

That was the way love was, invisible, there whether or not you wanted to see it or admit to it.