I’m sorry,” he repeats again, too low for Raven and Tack to hear. “I’m sorry for everything.

Not gray, exactly. Right before the sun rises there's a moment when the whole sky goes this pale nothing color-not really gray but sort of, or sort of white, and I've always really liked it because it reminds me of waiting for something good to happen.

I didn't realize then what a privilege that was: to be bored with your best friend; to have time to waste.

Take it from me: If you hear the past speaking to you, feel it tugging up your back and runing its fingers up your spine, the best thing to do-the only thing-is run.

There's always some relief in giving up.

Amor deliria nervosa isn't a disease of love. It's a disease of selfishness.

He looked at me like I was beautiful.