Even enemies were an inch away from friendship.

If you ever write a book, I can only give you one piece of advice. Don't let your parents get involved.

That's typically what writers do; we just sit around complaining most of the time. And the better things are going, the more they complain.

That was when the world wasn't so big and I could see everywhere. It was when my father was a hero and not a human.

She could smell the pages. She could almost taste the words as they stacked up around her.

A halo surrounded the grim reaper nun, Sister Maria. (By the way-I like this human idea of the grim reaper. I like the scythe. It amuses me.)

Mistakes, mistakes, it's all I seem capable of at times.