I think part of the problem sometimes is that there's so much happening in my books, to whittle it down into a single script is hard.

You get what you give, but also what you're willing to take. The night before, I'd offered up my hand. Now, if I held on, there was no telling what it was possible to recieve in return.

Still, there was also was something reassuring about working for Commercial, almost hopeful. Like things that were lost could be found again. As we drove away, I always tried to imagine what it would be like to open your door to find something you had given up on.

If he'd been any other boy, and this was any other world, I would have kissed him. Nothing could have stopped me.

It was just one of those things," I said, "You know, that just happen. You don't think or plan. You just do it.

Sometimes a question can hurt more than an answer.

Because anyone that can make you feel that bad about yourself is toxic.