What was the good of having such a fine home if you weren't willing to fight for it?

Just . . . love me, and let tomorrow look after itself.

But wishes were empty thoughts, cast down a dark hole. They didn't come true unless you worked for them. I'd learned that about the world, if nothing more.

Time is fluid, so the moments where everything feels perfect pass in a wink, and those where you're on your knees in despair drag on like the death of a thousand cuts.

But it was like a dance across a field strewn with razors, and I bled with every step I took.

He'd said the sun could burn me. It certainly looked angry enough, all orange and glowing mad.

I think people can be trusted to know what makes them unhappy. Maybe we don't always know what we want exactly, but we can usually say what we don't with a fair amount of specificity.