Who need to read about real life when there's dragons. Come on!

It was mint and memories and the past and the future and she felt as if she’d done this before and already she longed to do it again.

It (suicide) became a possibility like Maybe when I grow up, I will be dead. Life was a cake that looked good on the bakery shelf but turned to sawdust and salt when I ate it.

I remember being intrigued by the idea of school-in-a-box, just-add-water-and-Sam.

It was a sort of ferocious, quiet beauty, the sort that wouldn't let you admire it. The sort of beauty that always hurt.

whoopdie-friggin-doo, fooled you!

sloughing my skin / escaping it's grip / stripped of my wit / it hurts to be me .