There was once a strange, small man. He decided three important details about his life: 1. He would part his hair from the opposite side to everyone else. 2. He would make himself a small, strange mustache. 3. He would one day rule the world. ...Yes, the Fuhrer decided that he would rule the world with words.

Liesel shrugged away entirely from the crowd and entered the tide of Jews, weaving through them till she grabbed hold of his arm with her left hand. His face fell on her. It reached down as she tripped, and the Jew,the nasty Jew, helped her up. It took all of his strength.

I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and its words and stories so damning and brilliant.

All my friends seem to be smart arses. Don't ask me why. Like many things, it is what it is.

The bittersweetness of uncertainty: To win or to lose.

And I stop listening to me, because to put it bluntly, I tire me.

I feel the fear, but I walk fast toward it.