I want to make a memorial for our turkey. Never has a bird been so tortured to provide such a lousy dinner.

If I run or breathe too deep, the cheap stitches holding me together will snap, and all the stickiness inside will pour out and burn through the concrete.

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.

Can't escape pain, kiddo. Battle through it and you get stronger.

I don't just use yarn from a store. I buy old sweaters from consignment shops. The older the better, and unravel them. There are countries of women in this scarf/shawl/blanket. Soon it will be big enough to keep me warm.

I wish I had cancer. I will burn in hell for that, but it's true.

I wanted to pull down a book, open it proper, and gobble up page after page