After all, once you know that part of something exists, it stands to reason that the rest of it is somewhere out there, too.

What if the one I choose to discount is one who has been truly hurt?

Because hate's just the flip side of love. Like heads and tails on a dime. If you don't know what it feels like to love someone, how would you know what hate is? One can't exist without the other.

Or in other words, it's the substance you've got when you start that determines the outcome.

I have a sister, so I know-that relationship, it's all about fairness: you want your sibling to have exactly what you have-the same amount of toys, the same number of meatballs on your spaghetti, the same share of love. But being a mother is completely different. You want your child to have more than you ever did. You want to build a fire underneath her and watch her soar. It's bigger than words.

I had absolutely no trauma in my childhood. If anyone ever assumed that my books were autobiographical, they'd be sorely disappointed, because none of these things happened to me.

I have come to believe that this life I'm wearing will never really fit.