He’s worth fighting for, but I won’t change who I am for any man. No more than he should alter himself to suit me.

You ever have that feeling? Like you’ve known someone your whole life but you don’t know them at all.

We're broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.

There are quiet ways to die where the body just doesn’t notice that the heart is gone.

So I make no effort to hide my pain. I don’t ever put it all on display like this—but for today and all the rest of the days of the trial, I must. My every flinch, every flicker of pain, will be magnified a hundred times over, then dissected by the pundits and talking heads. But I’m told it’s necessary; the world needs to see me vulnerable and wounded. I cannot appear not to care or to lack remorse, but that removes a crucial component of my self- defense mechanism and leaves me bleeding for all the world to see. I suppose that’s rather the point.

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.

How can you miss someone who’s right beside you?