What kind of thoughtless creep would burn a book?

Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.

A lot of times you get people writing wonderful sentences and paragraphs, and they fall in love with their prose style, but the stories really aren't that terrific.

Honesty is always good, except when it's better to lie.

A friend of mine once defined love as finding someone you can talk to late into the night

I was breathless, talking as fast as I could. I was afraid if I stopped talking, even for a second, I’d start sobbing again. “Whoa, there.” Fang smiled and reached up, tracing a hand down the side of my face, winding strands of my hair around his fingers. “Stop talking and let me just tell you how great it is to wake up staring at your face. Okay?

I was crazily, deeply, incredibly, joyously, terrifiedly in love.