It brewed in her as she eyed the pages full to the brims of their bellies with paragraphs and words. You bastards, she thought. You lovely bastards. Don’t make me happy. Please, don’t fill me up and let me think that something good can come of any of this.

What would you do if you were me? Tell me. Please tell me! But you're far from this. Your fingers turn the strangeness of these pages that somehow connect my life to yours. Your eyes are safe. The story is just another few hundred pages of your mind. For me, it's here. It's now. I have to go through with this, considering the cost at every turn. Nothing will be the same.

Maybe one morning I’ll wake up and step outside of myself to look back at the old me lying dead among the sheets.

People die of broken hearts. They have heart attacks. And it's the heart that hurts most when things go wrong and fall apart.

He's most likely robbing the bank as a paycheck on the world for winning the ugliness prize at his local fete three years running.

I want to talk to him. I want to ask him about that girl and if he loved her and still misses her.

Liesel observed the strangeness of her foster father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver.