You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly in times of great trouble?
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Half the world is composed of people who have something to say and can't, and the other half who have nothing to say and keep on saying it.
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Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book.
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You have to write the book that wants to be written. And if the book will be too difficult for grown-ups, then you write it for children.
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So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.
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I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.