They don't really pay attention to me, except when they need my blood or something. I wouldn't even be alive, if it wasn't for Kate being sick.

That's the crazy thing about lies. You start to fall for them, yourself.

I start by mulling a question and before I know it, a whole drama is unfolding in my head. Often, an idea sticks before I know what I'm going to do with it.

Raw love, like raw heartache, could blindside you.

You could only save someone that wanted to be saved; otherwise, you'd be be dragged down for the count, too.

Everytime I look at a zebra, I can't figure out whether it's black with white stripes or white with black stripes, and that frustrates me.

How many times would I throw this away before I realized it was what I had been looking for all along?