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

old grudges and bitterness always hurt the individual more than the one whom he believes injured him.

dreams are shadows cast by truth shining on our darkest secrets

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

I think I’m dying to get to know a particular guy. Then he opens his mouth and ruins it.

So are you turning out like them? Do you still write and draw?" "yeah, but I don't do anything personnal or profound. My parents take life way to seriousely. I lke to make people laugh. I had a regular cartoon feature in the school news paper and created some for the year book. Social satire stuff. I've done a couple of political cartoons for wisteria's paper and just got one accepted in Easton's, which has a much bigger circulation. Impressed?

I felt mocked. "That's what I get for trusting you." He took a step back. "Excuse me! Trust doesn't mean you get the response you want from someone, but that you'll get an honest response, and that the other person will stick by you even when you can't agree." Stick by you for how long, through how much? I wondered. What is the expiration date on trust?