Comfort zones are overrated. They make you lazy.

Their bedroom has always been our sanctuary. Sometimes at night we'll end up on their bed just talking. My dad will be snoring and Mia will say, "Turn around, Bobby, you're snoring," and he'll turn around and for a moment it'll be silent. Then he'll erupt into a massive snore and Luca and I will kill ourselves laughing and my dad will wake up and bark, "Get to bed!" and not even a second later he'll be snoring and we'll kill ourselves laughing again and Mia will say, "What is this? Grand Central Station?

Sir Topher finally looked up. “Because any hope beyond that, my boy, would be too much. I feared we would drown in it.” "Then I choose to drown,” Finnikin said. “In hope. Rather than float into nothing.

Later, when they were almost asleep he had called out to her. 'Finke?' 'Yeah?' 'We'll make a great team. You plant. I build.

Your problems are out there. But they're small. They only grow out of proportion when they climb inside your head.

Because photos are testimony that someone did live. A reminder of past we may have loved or hated. A piece of our lives.

Someone had to be blamed. Someone had to die. (...) What you can't understand, you destroy.