As I was walking up the stairs to dad's old room, and I was looking at the photographs, I started thinking that there was a time when these weren't memories. That someone actually took the photograph, and the people in the photograph had just eaten lunch or something.

I want to be an author/director and I'm writing my second book now and I want to make a movie of it, and I hope I get to do this for the rest of my life.

When the police came, they found my brother asleep on the roof. Nobody knows how he got there.

The reason I am thinking so far in advance is because school is terribly lonely. I think I've said that before, but it's getting harder every day.

He's a wallflower. You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.

Banning books gives us silence when we need speech. It closes our ears when we need to listen. It makes us blind when we need sight.

All I could do is lie there and think about how much her voice changed when she asked me if she was pretty, and how much she changed when I answered.