The beautiful part of writing is that you don’t have to get it right the first time, unlike, say, a brain surgeon.
It’s amazing that the heart makes no noise when it cracks.
Go get your bus, square boy.
He closed the locker quickly so no one would see the damage. For some reason, he felt ashamed.
I had my bully, and it was excruciating. Not only the bully, but the intimidation I felt.
Everybody sins, Francis. The terrible thing is that we love our sins. We love the thing that makes us evil.
A new sickness invaded Jerry, the sickness of knowing what he had become, another animal, another beast, another violent person in a violent world, inflicting damage, not disturbing the universe but damaging it.
And he did see – that life was rotten, that there were no heroes, really, and that you couldn’t trust anybody, not even yourself.
People throw the word love around like confetti when they actually mean affection.
The possibility that hope comes out of hopelessness and that the opposite of things carry the seeds of birth – love out of hate, good out of evil. Didn’t flowers grow out of dirt?