“Sitting down in the evenings became a kind of torture, a bleak realization of her talents laid out against the bright shimmering fabric of her dreams. Yet she couldn’t stop, she couldn’t give up so easily. To stop writing completely produced in her a bleak and relentless depression, so she stubbornly persisted, plodding through endless drafts and revisions, telling herself she was learning something each time.”

“Yet she couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t stop writing. She was like a medium receiving messages from the dead.”

“It was one way she had found to fill her solitary childhood, but it was more than that; the act of creation gave substance and shape to her life. It made order out of the chaos.”

“I can’t just open myself up the way some people can. And down here, you’re raised a certain way. You’re taught to keep some things private, family matters especially. It’s just the way it’s done.""Everyone worships the past but no one really wants to talk about it.”

“With a glance over her shoulder to ensure no one saw them, she charged up the stairs. Mr. Aldercy fell into step behind her, and they hurried like schoolchildren afraid of being caught in a prank.However, at the top of the stairs, games stopped. He whisked her up the last step, twirled her around until her back was against the wall, and kissed her.”

“Death smoothes the rough edges, obliterates the cruelties of the deceased. It makes heroes of monsters.”

“Everyone has a different story, and you have to ask yourself what motivates people to see reality the way they do.”