Perfect love was that kind of love that made no sense but made everything else make sense somehow. It was raw and unscripted, turbulent and slightly unpredictable.

Maybe everything really does just have an expiration date--one that you can't see until she tells you she's leaving, and then she's gone.

Dreams would always end with you, and then mornings would steal you away with a cruelty that haunted my days.

Now it's time to focus on basics for people in our neighborhoods... and real ethics reform at City Hall.

Make no mistake, the organizations website counsels. You will be writing a lot of crap. And thats a good thing. By forcing yourself to write so intensely, you are giving yourself permission to make mistakes. To forgo the endless tweaking and editing and just create. I am not the first person to point out that writing a lot of crap doesnt sound like a particularly fruitful way to spend an entire month, even if it is November.

There is a perfect someone, even if the road to that someone isn’t all that perfect.

Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal.