Right now everyone is drinking bad wine made of sour grapes and hysteria. Let them drink it, and let them regret it in the morning.

He reached for her and kissed her. It was all at once passionate, as if there was too much in him to contain. He was immediately swept up in it. It took no effort, the difference between swimming on your own and being washed away in a flood.

To Fred, those years seemed to pass like quickly skimming a book and then finding the ending wasn't what he expected. He wished he'd paid more attention to the story.

I should let people in. If they leave, they leave. If I break, I break. It happens to everyone. Right?

Don't you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?

Men. You can't live with them, you can't shoot them.

She accepted it from then on. Books liked her. Books wanted to look after her.