He took a few steps before responding. "You are special," he finally said, and the way e said it made her wonder if he wanted to add something else.

That's my sweetheart in there. I'm not living her. This is my home now. Your mother is my home.

I think... that when it comes to us, anything is possible.

Yet I have come to believe that while the past is unchangeable, our perceptions of is are malleable.

I don't write fantasy, I write reality. Also, my novels have roots to Greek tragedies and as such, there has to be tragedy.

That initial anger she had felt turned to sadness, and now it had become something else, almost a dullness of sorts. Even though she was constantly in motion, it seemed as if nothing special ever happened to her anymore. Each day seemed exactly like the last, and she had trouble differentiating among them.

I finally understood what true love meant...love meant that you care for another person's happiness more than your own, no matter how painful the choices you face might be.