Writer's block is for people who have the luxury of time.

Not everyone understands how you can spin two lassos at the same time, one of hope and one of grief.

It takes two people to make a lie work: the person who tells it, and the one who believes it.

If there's something as good as [him] in my life, I'm going to pay for it.

This must be what an addict feels like, I think, trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.

As it turns out, you can function while your heart is being torn to shreds.

How do you know that you are not part of a book? That someone's not reading your story right now?