Only the liar knows he’s lying.
We Pisces, we’re a special breed.
Maybe knowing where you belong is not equal to knowing who you are.
It was like trying to bail out an ocean of water with a teaspoon.
Scars are just a treasure map for pain you’ve buried too deep to remember.
Remember when you were a little kid and you’d fall asleep in the car? And someone would carry you out and put you into bed, so that when you woke up in the morning, you knew automatically you were home again? That’s what I think it’s like to die.
The real power of a wolf isn’t in its fearsome jaws, which can clench with fifteen hundred pounds of pressure per square inch. The real power of a wolf is having that strength, and knowing when not to use it.
I wonder if what makes a family a family isn’t doing everything right all the time but, instead, giving a second chance to the people you love who do things wrong.
Because hate’s just the flip side of love. Like heads and tails on a dime. If you don’t know what it feels like to love someone, how would you know what hate is? One can’t exist without the other.
When someone loves you up one side and down the other like that, you make every effort to stick around.
Me, I was already jaded and tarnished, skeptical that a fantasy world could keep reality at bay.
There’s no way to convince her that just because you put half. planet between you and someone else, you can’t drive that person out of your thoughts. Believe me. I’ve tried.
It just goes to show you: you can put nine insane miles between you and another person. You can make a vow to never speak his name. You can surgically remove someone from your life. And still, he’ll haunt you.
I may not have a degree, but I certainly got an education.
Clearly God was in some kind of mood on my birthday.
If it is possible to die of grief then why on earth can’t someone be healed by happiness?
Can you imagine what it would be like to know that your life was just going to be a series of days that were all the same, that were do-overs?
I’m weird. Everyone says so.
He’s not your typical prince, more like a square peg in a round hole, kind of like me. He’s the sort of guy who wouldn’t mind reading side by side on a date.
This must be what an addict feels like, I think, trying to fight the pull of one last, quick read. My fingers itch toward the binding, and finally, with a sigh of regret, I just grab the book and open it, hungrily reading the story.