The weapons an author has at her disposal are flawed. There are words that feel shapeless and overused. Love, for example. I could write the word love a thousand times and it would mean a thousand different things to different readers.

The best thing about endings is knowing that just ahead is the daunting task to start over.

The truth doesn't always set you free; people prefer to believe prettier, neatley wrapped lies

If history has a habit of repeating itself, doesn't someone have to stay behind to shout out a warning?

It was one thing to sacrifice your own life for someone else's. It was another thing entirely to bring into the mix a third party - a third party who knew you, who trusted you implicitly.

I would tell them that when you look at a person, you never know what the're hiding.

But will you miss me? More importantly - will I miss you? Does either one of us really want to hear the answer to that question?