You are so intense. Like a storm. It’s shocking how intense you are.
Sometimes a wild horse needs to feel that his rider is just a little bit wilder.
He said that black sheeps express everyone else’s anger and pain. It’s not that they have all the anger and pain-they’re just the only ones who let it out. Then the other people don’t have to.
My mother says that pain is hidden in everyone you see. She says try to imagine it like big bunches of flowers that everyone is carrying around with them. Think of your pain like a big bunch of red roses, a beautiful thorn necklace. Everyone has one.
It seems impossible that you can love one person so much, no matter what happens, no matter what they do.
You are my Marilyn. You are my lake full of fishes. You are my sky set, my ‘Hollywood in Miniature,’ my pink Cadillac, my highway, my martini, the stage for my heart to rock and roll on, the screen where my movies light up.
Beauty loved him more than anything, her Beast boy, but, secretly, sometimes, she wished he would have remained a Beast.
Under the pink Harlequin sunglasses strawberry dangling charms, and sugar-frosted eyeshadow she was really almost beautiful.
You’re meant to have whatever your heart desires. Whatever your heart wants that much is already a part of you.
When you live in a city with no stars to wish on, you have to wish on each other.
Every girl is a goddess.
I’ll be inside the one who holds you. And then I won’t be.
After his kisses and hugs it feels like without them my body will fall apart into pieces.
Write with abandon and no constraints for first draft. Cut brutally and save in separate files on second draft. Add conflict; don’t be afraid to make your characters suffer. Read what you love. Write what you love. Love.
She was no longer a slow dreamer watching the flowers grow. She was a warrior now. Warriors need something to fight for though, beside their lives, because otherwise their lives will not be worth it.
He said, You’re so tiny, like a doll, you look like you might break. I wanted him to break me. Part of me did.
Love is a dangerous angel.
What shall we do, all of us? All of us oassionate girls who fear crushing the boys we love with our mouths like caverns of teeth, our mushrooming brains, our watermelon hearts?
Our stories can set us free. When we set them free.
I stand here waiting. To disappear or sing.