Don't accuse me of being morbid when I'm merely the product of a culture that buries the bones of the ones they love in pretty, manicured flower gardens so they can keep them nearby and go talk to them whenever they feel troubled or depressed. That's morbid. Not to mention bizarre. Dogs bury bones, too.

Barrons knows virtually everything about me. I wouldn’t be surprised if somewhere he has a little file that encompasses my entire life to date, with neatly mounted, acerbically captioned photos—see Mac sunbathe, see Mac paint her nails, see Mac almost die.

Get back on the bike and tell me where to go." "I'll tell you where to go," I muttered sourly, and he laughed.

Hope is a critical thing. Whithout it, we are nothing. Hope shapes will. The will shapes the world.

I have your word?” “You trust my word?” “You’re an idealistic fool. Of course.

Good and evil are merely opposite sides of a coin. Get tossed in the air enough, it's easy to come down on the wrong side.

I am a kite in a tornado, but I have a long string.