At least the girls in stories were alive before they died.

I saw my own blood and I thought, how could I live in a world where this exists- where love can become death?

I am constantly thinking ahead to what I want to write about in the future, and when I'm done with one project, I give myself a little time and then start the next one.

What sexual preference do you hope she has?” “Happiness.” Isnt that cool?

Sometimes a wild horse needs to feel that his rider is just a little bit wilder.

Any love that is love is right.

His own voice was older than he was. Ancient, unearthed from some mystical subterranean place...The voice seemed to make his whole body ache. Maybe it made him bleed inside. I wondered if it hurt, if it burned in his throat.