I hate that everyone calls it growing up, but it seems like DYING.

If curiosity killed the cat, it was satisfaction that brought it back.

She knew what it felt like to tremble like that before touching someone -- desire so acute that it became despair.

I thought you needed to be tougher. But I've been thinking that protecting somebody by hurting them before someone else gets the chance isn't the kind of protecting that anybody wants.

She'd always been a little contemptuous of beauty, as though it was something you had to trade away some other vital thing for.

Everyone danced -- sweaty bodies packed tight, drunk with sound.

I remember everyone telling me I had to think positive when I was writing my first book. If I believed I could do it, then I could! If I pictured myself published, then it was going to happen! Which sounded great, except...could I do it? If I didn't think I could, was I doomed to fail? What if I was almost totally sure I would fail? I am here to tell you-what matters is sticking with it.