The only difference between a wish and a prayer is that you're at the mercy of the universe for the first, and you've got some help with the second.

That's the paradox of loss: How can something that's gone weigh us down so much?

Or. I hate that word. It’s two letters long and stuffed to the gills with reasonable doubt.

For me, every book is a journey - questioning a really difficult topic that most people don't want to talk about, much less write about. And that's what I need; that works for me as a writer.

They're fake bullets, so why do I feel like Im bleeding out?

My mother... she is beautiful, softened at the edges and tempered with a spine of steel. I want to grow old and be like her.

Do you know how, when you are on the verge of a breakdown, the world pounds in your ears; a rush of blood, of consequence? Do you now how it feels when the truth cuts your tongue to ribbons, and still you have to speak it?