I had a hundred and seventeen days in which to convince Will Traynor that he had a reason to live.

I'm like a hermit. Once I'm home, I'm home and when I ride in the car, I don't really listen to the radio as much.

I look up to people who succeed in accomplishing their dreams.

If anyone will listen I will continue to sing.

I bite my fingernails. That's probably not a good thing.

What if the genetically superior male is actually a bit of a dickhead?

I'm afraid of animals.