I'm so tired I never want to wake up again. But I've figured out now that it was never them that made me feel that way. It was just me, all along.

Did you get Mom a birthday present?" Helen asked. "Yes," Gansey replied. "Myself." "The gift that keeps on giving." "I don't think that minor children are required to get gifts for their parents. I'm a dependent. That's the definition of dependent, is it not?" "You, a dependent!" his sister said, and laughed. "You haven't been a dependent since you were four. You went straight from kindergarten to old man with a studio apartment.

I'm so tired I never want to wake up again. But I've figured out now that it was never them that made me feel that way. It was just me, all along.

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

As the hours crept by, the afternoon sunlight bleached all the books on the shelves to pale, gilded versions of themselves and warmed the paper and ink inside the covers so that the smell of unread words hung in the air.

I am alone in the world, and yet not alone enough to make each hour holy. I am lowly in this world, and yet not lowly enough for me to be just a thing to you, dark and shrewd. I want my will and I want to go with my will as it moves towards action.

The inside of the old Camaro smelled like asphalt and desire, gasoline and dreams.