I listened as the words became sentences and the sentences became pages and the pages became feelings and voices and places and people.

It's only the body that's gone. Only the body. There's a part that doesn't go in the ground, a part that stays inside you forever.

Why do you write?' Because I love words and stories so much. Because I would be grief stricken every day of my life if I couldn't write. Because I'm obsessed and compelled. Because I'd be utterly useless at anything else.

She was his soulmate, as much a part of him as the very flesh and bone that made him. She was with him, in him, in everything he did. She was everything he wanted from his life, the very measure of his dreams.

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

I love you, too... I won't ever leave you again. I promise. I kept that promise. For love him I did. For nearly two years I spent almost every waking hour with him. Until he was taken from me. But I never left him. And I never will.

Make them care, Mattie,' she said softly. 'And don't you ever be sorry.' -Emily Wilcox