Sometimes he felt sure that the key to happiness was a poor memory.

She went around with a broken heart, and she wasn't sure who'd broken it. She thought it was herself, mostly.

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

Someday was the thing he had, because it was a lot harder to ruin than today.

She wasn’t sure if he wanted more from her or if he wanted less. Maybe it was both. Maybe it was always both.

As the three of them walked home from the trees, nobody needed to say it, but Ama knew. They had questioned their friendship. They had searched and wondered, looking for a sign. And all along they'd had their trees. You couldn't wear them. You couldn't pass them around. They offered no fashion advantage. But they had roots. They lived.

It's always nervewracking to put yourself out there. But it's the root of joy.