I've always sort of wondered: If everyone else's opinion is what matters, then do you ever really have one of your own?

Having a fantasy come true doesn't always mean it will be permanent.

I’d much rather pretend I’m somewhere else, and any time I open the pages of a book, that happens.

The damage was permanent; there would always be scars. But even the angriest scars faded over time until it was difficult to see them written on the skin at all, and the only thing that remained was the memory of how painful it had been.

I wish I could tell him I understand: the higher you raise your hopes, the farther you have to fall.

My dad used to say that living with regrets was like driving a car that only moved in reverse.

I thought lightning wasn't supposed to strike in the same place twice....sure it does...but only if you're too dumb to move.