Perhaps I wasn't going crazy after all. Perhaps I was just becoming a writer.

Things that are easily done are often much harder to undo. Sometimes, impossible.

Adults are constantly telling teenagers that it's what's on the inside that matters. It's always painful to find out that adults have lied to you.

That's the magic of books. They're never quite the same for any two people. When you read one, you automatically make it your own.

Many perfumes promise to lure men to women. None of them smell of motherhood. None of them proclaim the wearer to be tidy, thrifty, and sensible.

You can't wish for more wishes or for vague generalities like happiness that are impossible to grant. Your wish has to be something specific enough that I can use my wand to make it happen. Oh, and recently there's been a ban on inserting yourself into the Twilight series. The Cullens are tired of different teenage girls pinging into their story every time they turn around.

I can't believe you just did that! Are you crazy?" I gripped the steering wheel tighter. "Why do people keep asking me that?" He turned to stare at me, his eyes worried. "Who else keeps asking you that? Are any of them doctors?