You're an idiot," she whispered tearfully. Finally, he opened his eyes and stared up at her; by then, she had moved on to stroking his hair and crying. She sat beside him on the edge of the bed, trying very hard not to bump him or let her cold tears fall on his bare chest and arms. For a moment he blinked at her. Then he asked, "Are you dead too?

You're not weak at all. Wounded, but that's nothing to be ashamed of.

How was I to know? ... You didn't say anything.""I said lots of things," he corrected gently. "You just didn't hear them.

Over a four-month period, I sat down and wrote every day. And then there was a novel, and all of a sudden, there were agents and offers.

Choose to be happy. It is what we have all done.

Sometimes love means letting go when you want to hold on tighter.

Stab one or two healers, and everyone overreacts.