I used to be someone.

Tell me who I am. (29)

I wonder at the weight of a Sparrow.

Words have longer lives than people.

...and time becomes a forgotten detail.

Multiple closets for different needs. Overkill.

But I am more than a name. More than they tell me

When you are perfect, is there anywhere else to go?

Some things aren't meant to be known. Only believed.

When is a cell finally too small to hold our essence?

Observing and understanding are two different things.

I created an icicle sculpture in the snow. White on white.

People will notice the beauty of what they usually ignore ~

I don't want five hundred billion neural chips. I want guts.

I thought grandmothers had to like you. It’s a law or something.

Airports and 'leg room' on planes are a form of medieval torture.

Maybe the impossible is possible when you take everything else away.

It's other people who make us wise, and I haven't known nearly enough.

Sometimes there's not a better way. Sometimes there's only the hard way.

... Change doesn't happen overnight-it's molded by people who don't give up

I think that maybe forgiveness is like change - it comes in small steps. (256)

Escape is not about moving from one place to another. It's about becoming more.

We all have a dark place in us. It's what we do with it and the choice we make.

The world before us is a postcard, and I imagine the story we are writing on it.

It's the unknown that I fear, the bites of memories that still have no connections.

Maybe staying on the surface keeps her from returning to a place where she can't breathe.

A single gentle rain makes the grass many shades greener. So our prospects brighten . . .

Fifty years in the future, I should hope we'll be on our second woman president, at least.

I just think perfection and lasting through the ages is for Greek statues, not us mere humans.

It can take years to mold a dream. It takes only a fraction of a second for it to be shattered.

Are the details of our lives who we are, or is it owning those details that makes the difference?

There is something about her eyes. Eyes don't breathe. I know that much. But hers look breathless.

Which weakness shall I tell her? “I walk funny,” I say, and she’s satisfied with that. (inside joke)

I suppose you're right about some perspectives. Just a few weeks ago, I thought you were a dickhead.

Percentages! Those are for economists, polls, and politicians. Percentages can't define your identity.

Father says it will come in time. “Time heals,” he says. I don’t tell him that I don’t know what time is.

Maybe there was no one way to define it. Maybe there were as many shades of love as the blues of the sky.

Whatever you choose for your stationery is your favorite color because it's where you pour your heart out.

Where we are going, I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the place that is important but the steps in between.

There are many words and definitions I have never lost. But some I am only just beginning to truly understand.

Picture yourself five years from now. Where do you want to be? Remember that. Every day. That's how you'll get there.

When your life has had few events to occupy it, it's amazing how a simple encounter can seem like an entire three-act play.

There are all kinds of friends you make in life... But there's something different about someone who spreads their wings with you.

I am undependable. You might get gritty contemporary with one book, science fiction, magical realism, or high fantasy with another.

The dictionary says my identity should be all about being separate or distinct, and yet it feels like it is so wrapped up in others.

Pieces. Isn't that what all of life is anyway? Shards. Bits. Moments. Am I less because I have fewer, or do the few I have mean more?

Maybe we all have a dark place inside of us, a place where dark thoughts and darker dreams live, but it doesn't have to become who we are.

What I think is all I have left. My mind is the only thing that makes me different from a fancy toaster. What we think does matter-it's all we truly have.

Things I can feel. Hard. Soft. Rough. Smooth. But the inside kind of feel, it is all the same, like foggy mush. Is that the part of me that is still asleep? (9)

Teens affect history. They affect lives; they affect our cultural growth and change, and yet, and at the same time, they are often the most vulnerable among us.

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