Over the years, she'd learned not to question him to closely—mostly because he wouldn't answer her.

Being a martyr is highly overrated.

It is hard to accept being different, hard to have people avoid looking at you, and still believe in yourself.

See you tomorrow,” he said, instead. “All right.” Then, impulsively, I asked, “Do you have a place to sleep tonight?” “Sure,” he said with a smile, and started off as if he had somewhere to be. I could have bitten off my tongue because I pushed him into a lie. Once he started lying to me, it would be harder to get him to trust me with the truth. I don’t know why it works that way, but it does—at least in my experience.

Never trust a mechanic who drives new cars. They're either charging too much money for their work, or they can't keep an old car running - maybe both.

If she know how strongly he felt, she'd have run out the door. He wasn't used to the possessive, or the savage joy she brought to his heart. It ate at his control, so he turned his attention to the music. He understood music.

Mine, ... Mine is what she is.