Different people remember things differently, and you'll not get any two people to remember anything the same, whether they were there or not.

There are accounts that, if we open our hearts to them, will cut us too deeply.

Songs remain. They last...A song can last long after the events and the people in it are dust and dreams and gone. That's the power of songs.

There are a hundred things she has tried to chase away the things she won't remember and that she can't even let herself think about because that's when the birds scream and the worms crawl and somewhere in her mind it's always raining a slow endless drizzle.

Words can wound, and wounds can heal.

Go get your heart broken.

Of course you don't believe in fairies. You're fifteen. You think I believed in fairies at fifteen? Took me until I was at least a hundred and forty. Hundred and fifty, maybe. Anyway, he wasn't a fairy. He was a librarian. All right?