I'm afraid they're in love," he said, concerned. "They don't want to leave you." He lifted one hand from her waist to gently brush a pair from her neck, where their wings fanned against her jaw. Melancholy, he said, "I know just how they feel.

Be an unstoppable force. Write with an imaginary machete strapped to your thigh. This is not wishy-washy, polite, drinking-tea-with-your-pinkie-sticking-out stuff. It’s who you want to be, your most powerful self. Write your books. Finish them, then make them better. Find the way. No one will make this dream come true for you but you.

"Love is a luxury." "No. Love is an element." An element. Like air to breathe, earth to stand on.

What does true even mean when it comes to a face? Only souls are true, and when you spill them to the air they melt away.

I want to touch with my mouth. His mouth, with my mouth. Maybe his neck, too. But first things first: Make him aware I exist. It’s possible that he is already aware, if only in a ‘don't step on the small girl’ kind of way.

It was funny, she thought, but her smile turned wistful because she had nobody to tell.

You mean he came to your school? The scandalous rodent-loaf!