A long time ago, Anne used to talk about energy - how that was all that love was - ions connecting across synapses of time and air. Don't rationalize, she'd say. None of it will ever make sense. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, not wanting to cry. Anne was right. None of it made any sense.

Racism doesn't know color, death doesn't know age, and pain doesn't know might.

Time comes to us softly, slowly. It sits beside us for a while. Then, long before we are ready, it moves on.

Everything I write, I read out loud. It has to sound a certain way. It has to look a certain way on the page.

I think boys don't always like to read books with female protagonist - I don't even know what to say about this.

Sometimes...you have to try to forget people you love just so you can keep living.

To watch your home change in front of you is surprising. But at the same time, going someplace like Mississippi, makes me appreciate even this.