Or even tell me it's because you could not live without The Boy's stunning Boyfruits for another night..." Sam's face was twisted into a weird shape at the mention of his Boyfruits.

One thousand ways to say good-bye One thousands ways to cry One thousand ways to hang your hat before you go outside I say good-bye good-bye good-bye I shout it out so loud Cause the next time that I find my voice I might not remember how.

It was possible that I'd thrown one too many Molotov cocktails over God's fence.

I hear laughter and someone asks if I need help, not in a nice way. I snarl, "What I need is for your mother to have thought a little harder nine months before your birthday.

Do you know how some people can do anything?” “What do you mean?” “I mean, you tell them to write a tune, they give you a symphony right there. You tell them to write a book, they write you a novel in a day. You tell them to move a spoon without touching it, they move it. If they want something, they make it happen. Miracles, almost.

As I handed her the bag, the old scars on my wrist throbbed with buried memories.

I never knew there were so many different ways to say good-bye.