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.

The outside lights were on, and it was snowing, and it looked like magic. Like we were somewhere else. Like we were someplace better.

I hate you." I love you." You're a freak, you know that? Everyone says so. They always have." I'm trying not to be.

On Friday night, I was reading my new book, but my brain got tired, so I decided to watch some television instead.

there is this one photograph... that is just beautiful. it would be impossible to describe how beautiful it is, but i’ll try. if you listen to the song “asleep,” and you think about those pretty weather days that make you remember things, and you think about the prettiest eyes you’ve known, and you cry and the person holds you back, then i think you will see the photograph.

I'm going to be who I really am. I'm going to figure out what this is.

Maybe it's good to put things in perspective, but sometimes, I think that the only perspective is to really be there.