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

It was always a relief when she came home to him. Like water or food. Like music or that moment when you cut yourself with a knife and squeeze the skin and no blood oozes out.

There’s nowhere to escape,” Dobey said, jamming his hands into his pockets and staring into the Valley. That’s not true, baby,” said Desiree. She took his hands and pulled him to her, wrapping her legs around his torso. She could feel the sobs in both of them, but quiet, silenced by the kiss. They could escape inside each other.

Writing is literally transformative. When we read, we are changed. When we write, we are changed. It's neurological. To me, this is a kind of magic.

Pulling heads off Barbies, sticking them on the TV antenna and ruining the reception. But thats how witch babies are.

You're meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.

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