I don't believe in fashion. I believe in costume. Life is too short to be same person every day.

Girl scouts didn't teach me what to do with emotionally unstable drunk boys.

Foreign novels are less action-oriented. They have a different pace; they’re more reflective. They challenge us to look for the story, find the story within the story.

I know you aren't perfect. But it's a person's imperfections that make them perfect for someone else.

I'm saying I'm in love with you! I've been in love with you this whole bleeding year!

I pull back, gasping for breath. Reeling. His breath is ragged, and I place my hands on his cheeks to steady him. "Is this okay?" I whisper. "Are you okay?" His reply is anguished. Honest. "I love you."

Because that's the thing about depression. When I feel it deeply, I don't want to let it go. It becomes a comfort. I want to cloak myself under its heavy weight and breathe it into my lunges. I want to nurture it, grow it, cultivate it. It's mine. I want to check out with it, drift asleep wrapped in its arms and not wake up for a long, long time.