Did you ever walk through a room that's packed with people, and feel so lonely you can hardly take the next step?

You can stay up all night and still not count all the ways to lose the people you love.

An item that looks perfectly normal on the surface might only be disguised.

You fell in love with someone because of the tilt of his smile, or because he could make you laugh, or in this case, because he made you believe that you were the only one who could save him.

In the English language there are orphans and widows, but there is no word for the parents who loses a child.

The world just feels different for those of us who come alive after dark. It's more fragile and unreal, a replica of the one everyone else inhabits.

I think the 'New York Times' reviews overall tend to overlook popular fiction, whether you're a man, woman, white, black, purple or pink. I think there are a lot of readers who would like to see reviews that belong in the range of commercial fiction rather than making the blanket assumption that all commercial fiction is unworthy.