“Sometimes I think I won't ever feel safe until I can count my last days on one hand.”

“Dad, I can count the number of normal school days I've had this year on one hand.”

“He reels me in, cups my face with both hands, and becomes my whole world. This is a kiss--maybe the last one we'll ever know, so we stay there forever, warm and safe. When he pulls away, something is lost. I think it's my heart.”

“I think you should celebrate whenever you can. Take that momentary feeling of being lucky, that feeling of being on the right track, and enjoy it. It won't last.”

“I think that I can count on the fingers of one hand the times you've actually said the word ‘women' and not replaced it with an epithet referring to female genitalia." "Hey, he's not that bad," Warren said. "Sometimes he calls them cows or whores.”

“Above all, staring at my old bedroom ceiling, I feel safe. Cocooned from the world; wrapped up in cotton wool. No one can get me here. No one even knows I'm here. I won't get any nasty letters and I won't get any nasty phone calls and I won't get any nasty visitors. It's like a sanctuary. I feel as if I'm fifteen again, with nothing to worry about but my Homework. (And I haven't even got any of that.)”