Something still exists as long as there's someone around to remember it.

Memory is like plaster: peel it back and you just might find a completely different picture.

Nobody, who looks at a shard of flint lying beneath a rock ledge, or who finds a splintered log by the side of the road would ever find magic in their solitude. But in the right circumstances, if you bring them together, you can start a fire that consumes the world.

Since I was five, I've known that I was adopted, which is a politically correct term for being clueless about one's own origins.

I know what love is. When you find the person you are supposed to love, bells ring and fireworks go off in your head and you can't find the words to speak and you think about him all the time. When you find the person you are supposed to love, you will know by staring deeply into their eyes.

In the end, though, I did not kill my sister. She did it all on her own. Or at least this is what I tell myself.

You can widen the feet of a compass, but they are still attached at the top; you can spin them away from each other, but you always wind up where you started.