To die trying would be better than to die without purpose.

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

She would do anything, anything to belong to his son after a lifetime of belonging to no one at all.

And everywhere girls, tumbling from trees like orange blossoms and hitting the earth with sickening thuds. They crack open.

Hope, that risky, illustrious thing. It should have gone extinct by now, but we keep it alive.

There’s a limit to how much living can be done in a life without freedom.

I see an ocean that’s spilled out of a wineglass, its body clear and sparkling and folding over itself. I see a ribbon of sand.