Each time someone dies, a library burns.

Years ago, I was crashed in gram’s garden and Big asked me what I was doing. I told him I was looking up at the sky. He said, “That’s a misconception, Lennie, the sky is everywhere, it begins at your feet.

I can't shove the dark out of my way.

Our tongues have fallen madly in love and gotten married and moved to Paris.

No hot guys should be allowed to have an English accent and drive a motorcycle. Not to mention wear the leather jacket or sport the cool shades. Hot guys should be forced into footie pajamas.

And why do English people sound smarter than the rest of us? Like they should be awarded the Nobel Prize for a simple greeting?

The first thing I notice is the sky, so full of blue and the kind of brilliant white clouds that make you ecstatic to have eyes. Nothing can go wrong under this sky.