I am an activist. I have a really big pulpit with my fiction and I love knowing that I can make people think.

In my family, we seem to have a tortured history of not saying what we ought to and not meaning what we do.

Love meant jumping off a cliff and trusting that a certain person would be there to catch you at the bottom.

And I think, not for the first time, that what is immoral is not always wrong.

It just goes to show you: you can put nine insane miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he'll haunt you.

I can't do this to you,' he said, drawing back. Emily put her hand on his and pulled the gun to her temple. 'Then do it for me,' she said.

You don't love someone because they're perfect," she says. "You love them in spite of the fact that they're not." I don't know how to respond to that; it's like being told after thirty-five years that the sky, which I've seen as a brilliant blue, is in fact rather green.