When you care more if someone else lives than you do about yourself- is that what [love is]?

Me, I was already jaded and tarnished, skeptical that a fantasy world could keep reality at bay.

The book that made me want to be a writer in the first place was Gone with the Wind - I read it and wanted to create a whole world out of words, too.

eskimos maybe? believed stars were holes in the sky where people who died could peek through at you

maybe there is more to a person than a body and a mind. maybe something else figures into the mix— not a soul, exactly, but a spirit that hints you might one day be greater, stronger than you are now. a promise; a potential.

And the very act of living is a tide; at first it seems to make no difference at all, and then one day you look down and see how much pain has eroded

A real friend isn't capable of feeling sorry for you.