Once, she made a boy come out of his house and kiss her under the streetlight. It was her first kiss. She thinks it was probably his, too. She never told him and she never, ever will.

After that, she wasn't sure what the game was or if she'd imagined it. All she knew was that she had lost.

This is the part in the movie where that guy says, "Zombies? What zombies?" just before they eat his brains. I don't want to be that guy.

Someone could cut through the mess in our house and look at it like one might look at rings on a tree or layers of sediment. They'd find the black-and-white hairs of a dog we had when I was six, the acid-washed jeans my mother once wore, the seven blood-soaked pillowcases from the time I skinned my knee. All our family secrets rest in endless piles.

To remind me, pain is the best teacher

I thought you were her knight, but you have become only her woodsman--taking little girls into the forest to cut out their hearts.

Every plan is a house of cards.