you remember what is lost, and you forget what's right in front of you.

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

Developing characters is a strange thing. In the beginning they are abstract and I wonder how to move on from there.

The weather turned. Her skin seemed to grow a million extra pores, and all of them opened to take in the warmth and tenderness of the air. The sun on her face made her want to cry. Into all those millions of open pores came the sunshine, and other feelings as well. In and out. She was porous.

The present no matter what I brought couldn’t change the past. The Past was set and sealed.

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

For the first time she saw that the nurse's name was Tabitha.