Love is like war; easy to begin, hard to end.
I love the idea of fictional worlds kind of all cohering in some way.
Parents were the only ones obligated to love you; from the rest of the world you had to earn it.
A loving soul was always more beautiful over the long haul, but actual prettiness was fleeting.
She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.
But then she hadn’t just learned to love this summer – she had also learned how to need.