“I feel like I will split like a wishbone, but who will get their wish?”

“How can you wish on a turkey wishbone with a man who is capable of correcting a love letter?”

“I like people, kind of. I even like boys, mostly. But I was beginning to feel like that stewardess who smiles at you when you get off the plane. Behind the smile you know she really wishes she could trip someone.”

“Sometimes I feel like this. Sometimes I feel like that. I wish I could be more specific, but that’s how I feel—vague.”

“I feel like someone who has a parade named in their honor, and doesn’t get invited.”

“I feel like, God expects me to be human. I feel like, God likes me just the way I am: broken and empty and bruised. I feel like, God doesn't look at me and wish that I were something else, because He likes me just this way. I feel like, God doesn't want me to close my eyes and pray for Him to make me holy or for Him to make me pure; because He made me human. I feel like, God already knows I'm human...it is I who needs to learn that.”