“It's not where you begin, it's where you end.”

“There exists a great uncertainty that comes with life. It is like a tree, its roots formed below the surface, its body penetrating a layer of top soil, its roots spreading outward, and affecting the domain it inhabits. With this natural uncertainty one feels lost, almost incapable of discovering his or her own true purpose. With all of this, one begins to search for that true purpose, always unsure if it is the right path. These feelings come from within, fueled by a catalyst that instills these doubts. However, with its great power, the catalyst is undefinable and unyielding. It is then within question if one can truly move away from the catalyst or really understand how one should feel when affected by it.”

“If you think you can just scare the crap out of me and walk home like nothing happened you are very wrong, mister." Cassie's voice, although steady, was now seething with anger. "What the hell happened out there, Trevor!?"Trevor checked his surroundings, crawled closer to the gate, and popped his head around the corner of the wall to check the house. Again, loud growls echoed in his ears and the gate shook under weight of a body butting up against it. The dogs were right in his face doing what they were trained to do—guard the property."Dogs, Cassie...big dogs happened.”

“I do not possess the ability to draw or paint.I can’t sing or dance.I can’t knit or sew. But I am an artist. I have the ability to put onto paper, words that tell an intriguing story. I am a writer. A writer is someone who, with just words, can paint a beautiful picture. A writer can open up a world of imagination you didn’t realize was possible. When you open up a book and become so consumed in the story, you feel like you’re a part of it… you’re standing next to that character and feeling the same way that character feels, That’s the art of a writer. I am an artist. My inspiration is the world around me.My paintbrush is my words.My easel is my computer.My canvas is the mind of my reader.”

“With a snort, Trevor responded, “A amadáin? It means you fool, but it’s really a polite Irish way of calling someone an asshole. Since there are no assholes in Ireland, we don’t really have a word for them, so that’s what we say.”His expression was so serious, Cassandra couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “I’ll have to remember that one. I know a few back home.”“A few assholes or Irishmen?”

“Jessica guffawed. “Well, almost every need. It will be every need when we walk in the door and they have gorgeous men waiting for us as well.”“Nope, not happening.” Cassandra took a chip, dipped it in the salsa,and popped it in her mouth. “Not interested in a relationship. Men are high maintenance, and relationships only bring pain.”Jessica flicked a chip across the table at her and sat back in her chair. Herexpression became sober as she looked at her best friend. “Seriously Cassie,you don’t believe that.”

“People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.”