What can I say? I'm obsessed. And as we all know obsessed girls can't be held responsible for our actions.

She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.

Forget Jack, I'm in love with the cold, dirt floor.

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.

Bridget cried for the leavers and the left. For the people, like herself, grimly forsaking what precious gifts they would ever get.

It’s more that I’m afraid of time. And not having enough of it. Time to figure out who I’m supposed to be… to find my place in the world before I have to leave it. I’m afraid of what I’ll miss.

She was supposed to be putting her life together right now, and all she could seem to do was throw grenades at it.