I raised my hands, trying to shush her. "Don't shush me," she said, eyes blazing. "I hate being shushed.

Why do you need to fly so much?” she asked. “If I don’t, it’ll catch up with me.” The words just came out. “What will?” I took my hands from my face, panting. I stared out at the storm. “Unhappiness.

It's the way you look whenever she mentions her fiance. My cat looks like that before he hacks up a hairball.

I'm cursed with this puritanical streak that makes me want everything to be about something. It's a terrible affliction.

If anyone comes near you, just scream and run.

It's somewhat disquieting that the same parents and educators who are horrified by the notion of child soldiers have bestowed upon 'The Hunger Games' a double mantle of critical praise and global bestsellerdom.

You've no fear of heights," puffed the girl. "None," I said. "I've heard that about you.