She loved her mother and depended on her mother, and yet every single word her mother said annoyed her.

When she is happy, she can't stop talking, when she is sad she doesn't say a word.

She couldn’t hide from everyone for the rest of her life… Well she could. That was the direction things were going. But she knew from long-ago experience that when you were uncertain and if you were courageous enough to let her in a real friend could do a world of good.

She glared at him, feeling the old frustration. Sometimes in his presence she felt the deepest connection to him, and other times she felt completely alone-as though any bond to him was her own bitter imagination.

People sometimes talk about the power of first impressions, and believe me, there is truth to it.

Something about giving in without a fight felt wrong.

She used to cry roughly three times a year. Now she seemed to cry three times before breakfast. Could that be considered progress?