You want this so badly—this second chance, this chance at real redemption—that you can’t see the truth.

Years fly by, but the heart stays in the same place.

There is a certain fate to the universe and a certain randomness.

Let me back up a little and tell you why I prefer writing to real life: You can rewrite. A novel, for example, can be cleaned up, altered, trimmed, improved. Life, on the other hand, is one big messy rough draft.

I love to make even villains people you can relate to. When you find out who did it, I think you almost like the person, which is not easy to do.

That’s the problem with falling in love. It makes you start talking like a bad country song

When I was seventeen, I worked as a counsellor at a co-ed sleep-away camp for eight weeks. I loved it but it could be harrowing - it was far too much responsibility for someone my age.