The joke's on them. One little hypodermic wont' be enough. Split a piece of wood, and they'll find me. Lift up a stone, and they'll find me. Look in the mirror, and they'll find me...If you really want to know what makes someone a killer, ask yourself what would make you do it.

You are only as invincible as your smallest weakness, and those are tiny indeed - the length of a sleeping baby's eyelash, the span of a child's hand. Life turns on a dime, and - it turns out - so does one's conscience.

Just when you think you've got your life by the reins, that's when it's most likely to run away with you.

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

In my family, we seem to have a tortured history of not saying what we ought to and not meaning what we do.

What if it turns out that a life isn’t defined by who you belong to or where you came from, by what you wished for or whom you’ve lost, but instead by the moments you spend getting from each of these places to the next?

You can’t undo something that’s happened; you can’t take back a word that’s already been said out loud.