I need a boy who thinks with his big head, not his little one. Since they do not exist, I have fashioned my own.

For the first time, I saw what was in his heart, and I wondered if he might ever want to look deep enough to see mine.

Hope is the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard.

History is a Rorschach test, people. What you see when you look at it tells you as much about yourself as it does about the past.

I don't like hope very much. In fact, I hate it. It's the crystal meth of emotions. It hooks you fast and kills you hard. It's bad news. The worst. It's sharp sticks and cherry bombs. When hope shows up, it's only a matter of time until someone gets hurt.

They sat quietly together for a few minutes, Joe holding Fiona's hand, Fiona sniffling. No flowery words, no platitudes passed between them. Joe would have done anything to ease her suffering, but he knew nothing he might do, or say, could. Her grief would run its course, like a fever, and release her when it was spent. He would not shush her or tell her it was God's will and that her da was better off. That was rubbish and they both knew it. When something hurt as bad as this, you had to let it hurt. There were no shortcuts.

There is an advantage to be found in most everything that happens to you, even if it is not immediately apparent.