It's fine," I repeated. And whatever. It was fine. It had to be.

A novel is a conversation between a reader and a writer.

You shall love your neighbour With your crooked heart, It says so much about love and brokenness -- it's perfect.

He really was beautiful. I know boys aren’t supposed to be, but he was.

I hated hurting him. Most of the time, I could forget about it, but the inexorable truth is this: They might be glad to have me around, but I was the alpha and the omega of my parents' suffering.

I'm not sure if I'm depressed. I mean, I'm not exactly sad. But I'm not exactly happy either. I can laugh and joke and smile during the day, But sometimes when I'm alone at night I forget how to feel.

I fear your faith has been mis- placed—but then, faith usually is.