She knew whose love she doubted. It wasn't her parents' and it wasn't her friends: It was her own.

I killed her once and died for her many times

Please don't judge me too much until you are older and know more things. (Spoken from mother to daughter)

Carmen didn't like change, and she certainly didn't like endings.

What happened to me by myself felt partly dreamed, partly imagined, definitely shifted and warped by my own fears and wants. But who knows? Maybe there is more truth in how you feel than in what actually happens.

Gestating characters feels something like the mental equivalent of gestating a baby. In both cases, to create them you lose yourself. Or at least you reshape yourself to encompass them.

When you feel someone else's pain and joy as powerfully as if it were your own, then you know you really loved them.