Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.

Maybe hope isn't the most dangerous thing a person can have. Maybe love is.

On tiptoes the redhead wouldn't even reach my shoulders; she is clearly too young to be a bride. And the willowy girl is too forlorn. And I am too unwilling. Yet here we are.

I wonder what it’s like for her, looking so much like a dead girl.

Childhood is a long, long road, from which that dark whispering forest of death seems an impossible destination.

Life is much different from the days when there were lilies in my mother’s garden, and all my secrets fit into a paper cup.

But I know all the things you're too sweet to know.