Crazy girls did this, girls who walked like zombies through YA novels. But. Trixie felt the sting of the skin as it split, the sweet welling rise of blood. It hurt, though not as much as everything else idd.
I close my eyes, thinking that there is nothing like an embrace after an absence, nothing like fitting my face into the curve of his shoulder and filling my lungs with the scent of him.
This is what it always comes down to, I realized. There are the ones who believe, and the ones who don’t, and caught in the space between them are guns.
Something still exists as long as there’s someone around to remember it.
If God wanted us to act on instinct, we wouldn’t have the power of reason.
To be truly popular, it has to look like something you are, when in reality, it’s what you make yourself.
A man should live his life a certain way not because of some divine authority, but because of a personal moral obligation to himself and others.
Then they scrambled through the window and into the darkness, determined to turn themselves into what they were not.
What if it turns out that a life isn’t defined by who you belong to or where you came from, by what you wished for or whom you’ve lost, but instead by the moments you spend getting from each of these places to the next?
Take it from me: love has all the lasting permanence of a rainbow- beautiful while it’s there, and just as likely to have disappeared by the time you blink.
I didn’t want to see her because it would make me feel better. I came because without her, it’s hard to remember who I am...
If you live in each other’s pockets long enough, you’re related.
They don’t really pay attention to me, except when they need my blood or something. I wouldn’t even be alive, if it wasn’t for Kate being sick.
Well I talk a little about that, but I don’t admit that from the beginning I knew we were not meant to be together.
It makes Faith think of a hammock in their yard, a web of rope that she thought would unravel the first time she leaned back on it, but that managed to support her all the same.
Torn between fear and something that resembled love, she wrestled with questions she never dreamed she would face: How could she leave? Then again, how could she stay?
One person’s trauma is another’s loss of innocence.
I know how difficult it can be when the image you’ve had of something doesn’t match its reality; when the friend beside you turns into a monster.
What she hadn’t realized was that sometimes when your vision was that sharp and true, it could cut you. That only if you’d felt such fullness could you really understand the ache of being empty.
She felt a cage coming down around her; too late she realized that he had her trapped by the heart. And like any unwilling animal that was well and truly caught, she could escape only by leaving a piece of herself behind.