My head is my favorite swimming pool.

It taught that there are three versions of things: the one I see in my mind, and the one that carries onto the paper, and then what it ultimately becomes.

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.

Every star has been set in the sky. We mistakenly think they were put there for us.

Set fire to the broken pieces; start anew.

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.

What have you done? What have you given up?' So many things, Cecily. More than you know.