Life and death were so unpredictable. So close to each other. We existed moment to moment, never knowing who would be the next to leave the world. I was still in it, barely, and as I looked up from the ashes, everything around me seemed so sweet and so beautiful. The trees. The stars. The moon. I was alive -- and I was glad I was.

That's the great thing about being a writer. You dream up amazing questions... and then dream up even more amazing answers.

There's nothing worse than waiting and not knowing what'll happen to you. Your own imagination can be crueler than any captor.

I look him in the eye. "I will always love you.

What are you? An after school special?

The book's always better than the movie.

Who are these people?" my mother asked. "Guess," replied Abe flatly. "Who would be foolish enough to break into court after escaping it?