Amanda took the torn page from Maniac. To her, it was the broken wing of a bird, a pet out in the rain.

Whom do I write for? I write for the story. Each story, it seems to me, knows best how it should be told. As I once put my ear to the railroad track, I listen now for the voice of my story.

She was elusive. She was today. She was tomorrow. She was the faintest scent of a cactus flower, the flitting shadow of an elf owl. We did not know what to make of her. In our minds we tried to pin her to a cork board like a butterfly, but the pin merely went through and away she flew.

Why fit in when you're born to stand out?

His smile was so wide he’d have had to break it into sections to fit it through a doorway

Or maybe you’re merely uncomfortable with uncertainty. Like the rest of the human race.

A strong relationship is an honest relationship, and no honest relationship is all peaches and cream. Love is the key. Where love abides, anger is but a passing visitor.