Words are precious things meant to create, to imagine, to dream with.

I glanced up at him. "I love things that are beautiful when you don't expect them to be.

What do you do with your anger when the person you're mad at goes off and dies? Bury it? Bury it inside you?

Hey, does my stupidity give you the right to bruise a tender heart?" "Yeah, yeah. I'm bruising a heart made of Play-Doh.

Was he still, somehow, watching over her?

Some people fall head over heels. Other people begin to fall without even knowing it—love grows like a spring flower beneath last autumn’s leaves and catches them by surprise.

Don't worry," I repiled, "I usually don't argue with the voices.