With my mom, when someone was gone, they were gone. She didn't waste another minute thinking about them, and neither should you.

I think when you're a beginning author with any publishing company, there's only so much they can put behind you.

Don't be a fool. Don't give up something important to hold onto someone who can't even say they love you.

It was like that part of my life, was just gone. It was almost too easy, for something I once thought had meant everything.

Usually when I finish the draft of a book, I'm sure I'll never write another one. I'm just that tired and sick of myself. But then another idea starts percolating. It usually begins with the narrator's name, then some idea that intrigues me about her life or situation. I try to ignore it as long as I can, because I know when I start writing, I'll be right back into it, every single day. But eventually, I just have to. It's a compulsion!

I wondered if he ever thought of me, and hated the pang I felt when I told myself he didn't.

It was like when you ripped a piece of paper into two: no matter how you tried, the seams never fit exactly right again.