He stares at me, and then leans back in his chair. "He's ill, Jacob." I say nothing. "He's a paragon schnitzophonic." "He's what?!" "Paragon schnitzophonic," repeats Uncle Al. "You mean paranoid schizophrenic?" "Sure. Whatever. But the bottom line is he's mad as a hatter.

With a secret like that, at some point the secret itself becomes irrelevant. The fact that you kept it does not.

i'm afraid to breathe in case i break the spell

Is where you're from the place you're leaving or where you have roots?

I don't like outlining, because books are organic things. Sometimes a book doesn't want to be written in a certain way.

You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of.

Being the survivor stinks.