The point is, it didn’t really matter what the book was about. It was what it meant that was important.

A SMALL PIECE OF TRUTH I do not carry a sickle or scythe. I only wear a hooded black robe when it's cold. And I don't have those skull-like facial features you seem to enjoy pinning on me from a distance. You want to know what I truly look like? I'll help you out. Find yourself a mirror while I continue.

It was a style not of perfection, but warmth. Even mistakes had a good feeling about them

Fear is shiny. Ruthless in the eyes.

I had to decide what I was going to do, and what I was going to be. I was standing there, waiting for someone to do something , till I realised the person I was waiting for was myself.

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

There are so many moments to remember and sometimes I think that maybe we're not really people at all. Maybe moments are what we are.... Sometimes I just survive. But sometimes I stand on the rooftop of my existence, arms stretched out, begging for more.