Most people talk when they have nothing to say. I’m not talking because I have too much to say. None of which I’d want you to hear.

Since I’ve known you, you’ve been spinning and spinning and spinning into all these various personas, and none of this self-exploration and experimentation has given you a sense of peace. I’ve known you for six years, intimately for four, and I still have no idea who I’m in love with.

The minute our correspondence becomes obligatory, there's no point in keeping touch at all.

The great thing about fiction is that you can start off by telling the truth, then start making stuff up like crazy whenever you feel like it.

I'm sitting in the bleachers, watching longingly as all the boys and umbumped girls in my Personal Health and Fitness class play Muggle Quidditch. I don't even like the game very much, I think it's silly, but I so miss physical activity that I'd be thrilled if I could run around the gymnasium with a broom between my legs, chasing after the human snitch wearing a gold pinny.

A relationship ends because you've outgrown it. It can begin again because you, as two, can fill the new shape.

I don't know if she's making the right choice, but it's not my choice to make. I promise to support her, whatever she decides. Because that's what sisters do.