In the distance I see a lighthouse. The light washes over us and continues on its rotation. This time, I don't know where the light will guide us.

They never exhale, the trees; on a very windy day, they rustle and inhale, and then the leaves and the branches all tremble as though something means to strangle the life from them. The sky watches on. The world is filled with anticipation, as if to wonder if this day will be a great day, or a horrible day, or the last day.

Even the human race can't claim to be natural anymore. We are fake, dying things. How fitting that I would end up in this sham of a marriage.

It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.

I want to make a world more magical than my own. I don't care if it makes sense, I don't care if it's ridiculed or if, rather than a neat round planet that goes around forever, it ends with a cliff that falls off into nothing. I want to have my eyes wide open, and I want to see this room and at the same time, not this room.

You can try to please everyone and risk accomplishing nothing, or go for your dreams and risk pissing a few people off.

Her mind is a bird that's trapped inside her skull, flapping and thrashing, never breaking free.