You’re sleeping with an assassin, running for your life every single day from men who want to kill you and you’re convinced you’re going to die of discomfort.

all I want to do is pull her against me and hold her until we both die.

Why does everybody have to be with somebody? It’s a stupid delusion and a really pathetic way of thinking.

I guess sometimes the greatest memories are made in the most unlikely of places, further proof that spontaneity is more rewarding than a meticulously planned life.

It’s like irresistible poison: I’m mesmerized by the way it’s making me feel though it has the potential to crush my soul and I drink it down anyway.

I tried to will them with my super mental powers so he’d put them around my waist, but apparently I had no super mental powers.

I’m not a follower. I never have been. But I’ll definitely become someone I’m not for a few hours if it’ll make me blend in rather than make me a blatant eye sore and draw attention.