I think they're here because I thought they ought to be here," Gansey said. Blue replied sarcastically. "Okay, God.

Fro and to in my dreams to you To the haunting tune of the harp For the price I paid when you died that day I paid that day with my heart Fro and to in my dreams to you With the breaking of my heart Ne'er more again will I sing this song Ne'er more will I hear the harp.

Happiness isn't something this island yields easily; the ground is too rocky and the sun too sparse for it to flourish.

I'd found heaven and grabbed it as tightly as I could, but it was unraveling, an insubstantial thread sliding between my fingers, too fine to hold.

It's like how on certain days some people wear sweaters when other people can wear t-shirts and still feel comfortable - different reactions to the same temperature.

There was something striking about her posture; something about the tilt to her head. She was like a beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unreachable.

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.