When it's all over, you're remembered for what you did, not what you said you were going to do.

You’ll tell yourself anything you have to, to pretend that you’re still the one in control.

In half hour my mother has managed to give me what my father couldn't: my past.

Any highway . . . they all take you to the same place, don't they?

I close my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of his shoulder and filling my lungs with the scent of him.

Hope and reality lie in inverse proportions.

I think many of my books, including "Handle with Care," including "My Sister's Keeper" circle back to how far are we willing to go for the people we love? I think love changes the way we think. It's the thing that takes you out of what your normal set of beliefs would be.