Cold and silence. Nothing quieter than snow. The sky screams to deliver it, a hundred banshees flying on the edge of the blizzard. But once the snow covers the ground, it hushes as still as my heart.

The best time to talk to ghosts is just before the sun comes up.

I watch some kids ask the cafeteria ladies to sign their books. What do they write: "Hope your chicken patties never bleed?" Or, maybe, "May your Jell-O always wiggle?

Who wants to recover? It took me years to get that tiny. I wasn't sick; I was strong.

If I can write a book that will help the world make a little more sense to a teen, then that's why I was put on the planet.

She offered herself to the big, bad wolf and didn't scream when he took the first bite.

Picasso.” He whispers like a priest. “Picasso. Who saw the truth. Who painted the truth, molded it, ripped from the earth with two angry hands.