Love sucks. Sometimes it feels good. Sometimes it's just another way to bleed.

His eyes widened just a bit, his lips flexed. I realized he was trying not to laugh. I hate it when people find my threats amusing.

How could you love someone and not want them to be happy?

A girl could never have too much jewelry or too much weaponry.

Love, whether it's friendship or more, is like a cup. It fills up drop by drop, until one last drop and the cup is full. The liquid hangs there almost above the rim, hangs there on surface tension alone and you know that one more drop and it will spill over.

Sometimes it's not the optimist you need, but another pessimist to walk beside you and know, absolutely know, that the sound in the dark is a monster, and it really is as bad as you think. Did that sound hopeless? It didn't feel hopeless. It felt reassuring. It felt - real.

What we prefer to read is sort of like sexual preference, you like what you like. Most of the time you have no clue why.