That's why we read fiction, isn't it? To remind us that whatever we suffer, we're not the only ones?

She became whoever she needed to be to survive,but she never let anyone else define her.

Anger, though, is too fierce a flame to last for long, and when it burned out, I was left numb and wondering.

Life is not a plot; it's in the details.

I drew it over my skin like a violins bow, No one would ever hear the song of my shame.

There is a fine line between seeing something that's lost as missing, and seeing it as something that might be found.

When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth.