Sometimes people are beautiful. Not in looks. Not in what they say. Just in what they are.

He watched them grow, until eventually, great forests of words had risen throughout Germany.... It was a nation of farmed thoughts.

I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.

I even move out onto the front porch and see my own limited view of the world. I want to take that world, and for the first time ever, I feel like I can do it. I’ve survived everything I’ve had to so far. I’m still standing here.

Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.

The last time I saw her was red. The sky was like soup, boiling and stirring. In some places, it was burned. There were black crumbs, and pepper, streaked across the redness.

You can kill a man with those words. No gun. No bullets. Just words and a girl.