I remember for that one moment, I believe I was hitch hiking on one of those comets, falling so fast that I'd surely burn away before I ever hit the ground.

I would prove to you that being different isn't a death sentence but a call to arms.

The act of writing... is the act of trying to understand why my opinion is what it is. And ultimately, I think that's the same experience the reader has when they pick up one of my books.

I became a firefighter because I wanted to save people. But I should have been more specific. I should have named names.

Relationships always sounded so physically painful: you fell in love, you broke a heart, you lost your head. Was it any wonder that people came through the experience with battle scars?

You could only save someone that wanted to be saved; otherwise, you'd be be dragged down for the count, too.

What if instead of focusing on what you don't have, you concentrate on what you've got?