He looked at the piles of food again, and it was like he was seeing it with new eyes. This is wrong, he thought. Letting food rot while people die of hunger. It's evil.

I wished I'd known weeks ago that we didn't have to be chaperoned. I remembered my old daydreams: the prince and I, alone together, cuddling and whispering... I probably would have wised up and brocken the engagement sooner.

That porch is a happy-looking place, and my father - burdened, stoop-shouldered, cadaverously thin - doesn't seem to belong on it.

Generally I finish a first draft in 2-6 months, then I set it aside for a while so that when I come back to it I can read it with fresh eyes and figure out how to improve it.

The Government justifies keeping everyone else in poverty because people seem to work the hardest when they're right on the edge of survival.

"Don't let go!" he orders. Harper's hand is dry and soothing, while mine is sweaty with fear. We've never held hands before. I think about what it means in the village when boys and girls only a few years older then Harper and me wander around with their hands clasped together. They're always peering dreamily into each other's eyes, sneaking sky kisses...and soon after, there's a wedding.

Fail big if you have to, but go down trying.