Many people have a novel inside them, but most don't bother to get it out.

The scariest thing in the world is thinking someone you love is going to die.

All I know is that I carried you for nine months. I fed you, I clothed you, I paid for your college education. Friending me on Facebook seems like a small thing to ask in return.

She thought of death like the seam of a hem: each time you lose someone close, it unraveled a little. You could still go along with your life, but you'd be forever tripping over something you previously took for granted.

Here's what no one ever tells you about love: it hurts, having your heart broken

I pointed to the wound. "It's missing," I said. My grandmother smiled, and that was all it took for me to stop seeing the scar, and to recognize her again. "Yes," she said. "But see how much of me is left?

I’d much rather pretend I’m somewhere else, and any time I open the pages of a book, that happens.