It doesn't matter how much his mother loves him; love is not enough to keep any of us alive.

When we're alive, life consumes us. But when we die, all of the color and the motion is gone so quickly, it's as though it can no longer stand to be wasted on us.

I rip my handout of hers, and I want to back away. I want to get as far from her as I can, but for some reason I can't move from this spot."What else did you tell him?

Don't forget how you got here. Don't Forget.

There are lots of love stories here," she says. "They either end happily, or everyone dies." She laughs, but it sound more like a sob. "What else is there, right?

The only characters I ever don't like are ones that leave no impression on me. And I don't write characters that leave no impression on me.