Books are many things: lullabies for the weary, ointment for the wounded, armour for the fearful and nests for those in need of a home.

I wasn't going to let things happen to me any more. I was going to make them happen.

When the doors closed behind me I felt like a bird had got inside my chest and was beating its wings trying to get loose, and it wasn't leaving much room for me to breathe.

Sometimes words come out of me and I don't know where they come from or why. They're like falling stars tumbling through the universe; bright, burning things that can't be stopped.

I didn't know what to say when someone's given you a small free kiss in the dark.

Books are many things: lullabies for the weary, ointment for the wounded, armour for the fearful and nests for those in need of a home.

Running away was easy; not knowing what to do next was the hard part.