Shooting stars are not stars at all. They re just rocks that enter the atmosphere and catch fire under friction. What we wish on when we see one is only a trail of debris.

She's not classically beautiful, but somehow that only makes her more interesting.

The ability to find sparks may be buried so deep in you that you stop believing there's a God. Until someone comes along, with so much light in her that you can't help but see your own, and when you're together,that light grows even brighter.

And just like that, something inside shifted very subtly, so that all the empty spaces in him suddenly disappeared, so that his breath timed to hers, so that his blood sang. This is why there was music, he realized. There were some feelings that just didn’t have words big enough to describe them.

In the English language there are orphans and widows, but there is no word for the parents who loses a child.

I've always sort of wondered: If everyone else's opinion is what matters, then do you ever really have one of your own?

She wondered if this was true of every parent: if, prior to having children, they all used to be someone else.