Because if it weren’t for me, Lena and Alex would never have been caught at all. I told on them. I was jealous.

Maybe it would be better if we didn't love. If we didn't lose, either. If we didn't get out hearts stomped on, shattered; if we didn't have to patch and repatch it until we're like Frankenstein monsters, all sewn together by who knows what

Lies are just stories, and stories are all that matter. We all tell stories. Some are more truthful than others, maybe, but in the end the only thing that counts is what you can make people believe.

For a second I feel a rush of sadness: for the horizons that vanish behind us, for the people we leave behind, the tiny-doll selves that get stored away and ultimately buried.

It won't matter if nobody ever thinks I'm pretty (although sometimes I wish, just for a second, that somebody would)

It's amazing how close I have been, all this time, to my old life. And yet the distance that divides me from it is vast.

Through wind, and tempest, storm, and rain; The calm shall be buried inside of me; A warm stone, heavy and dry; The root, the source, a weapon against pain