I don’t have too many books, I have too little shelving.

In another time, in another place, I wonder who they might have been.

I think she's brave. I think that nobody has ever believed what she could be capable of. All her life, nobody was listening.

It was my fifth grade teacher who introduced the idea that writing could be more than a hobby for me.

We figure out what death means when we're born, practically, and we live our whole lives in some kind of weird denial about it.

I lost everyone I loved," I tell him. I wait for him to look at me, and then I add, "The day I met you.

But instead of tears, when I press my face against the pillow, a horrible, primal scream comes out of me. It's unlike anything I thought myself capable of. Rage, unlike anything I've ever known.