But those with an evil heart seem to have a talent for destroying anything beautiful which is about to bloom.

[May] understood people and she let them be whatever way they needed to be. She had faith in every single person she ever met, and this never failed her, for nobody ever disappointed May. Seems people knew she saw the very best of them, and they'd turn that side to her to give her a better look.

In November, the trees are standing all sticks and bones. Without their leaves, how lovely they are, spreading their arms like dancers. They know it is time to be still.

Writing stories has given me the power to change things I could not change as a child. I can make boys into doctors. I can make fathers stop drinking. I can make mothers stay.

In November, the smell of food is different. It is an orange smell. A squash and pumpkin smell. It tastes like cinnamon and can fill up a house in the morning, can pull everyone from bed in a fog. Food is better in November than any other time of the year.

And, finally, I know, too. That throwing away this mess doesn't mean I'm giving something up. Or losing something I can't get back. It's just that there are too many pieces and too much dust. I'm just ready for something whole." —Pete Cassidy

It is when we are most lost that we sometimes find our truest friends.