Beautiful people don't need coats. They've got their auras to keep them warm.

But his words fall away. He looks confused. He looks flustered and sorry. Like you do when you run up to someone you think you know and take her arm and she turns around and you were wrong.

On those nights, the words were for me alone. They came up unbidden from my heart. They spilled over my tongue and spilled out my mouth. And because of them, I, who was nothing and nobody, was a prince of Denmark, a maid of Verona, a queen of Egypt. I was a sour misanthrope, a beetling hypocrite, a conjurer's daughter, a mad and murderous king.

Voice is not just the sound that comes from your throat, but the feelings that come from your words.

Every heart is made of stories.

Because just for a few seconds, someone else hurts, too. For just a few seconds, I'm not alone.

I think your vision gets better as you get older.