Here’s the million-dollar question: how are you going to write this book if you’re afraid to start writing? Give your friend Doubt a name, and then block his calls.

I needed to touch her, like I needed to breathe.

surrounded by strangers who love me (un)strangers made strange by pain

I walked over and picked up one of the jugs. "What's this? Some kind of Caster disinfectant?" Lena took it out of my hand and lined it up with the others. "Yeah, it's called bleach.

We don't get to chose what is true. We only get to choose what we do about it.

Maybe it needed to be broken. Sometimes things have to break before you can fix them.

I care. They bother me. And that's why I'm stupid. That makes me exponentially more stupid than stupid. I'm stupid to the power of stupid.