“It doesn't hurt. Nothing hurts except the small smiles and blushes that flash across the room like tiny sparrows.”

“I'm fighting the shock of having a guest in my room. I almost kick her out because it's going to hurt too much when my room is empty again.”

“I open a paperclip and scratch it across the inside of my left wrist. Pitiful. If a suicide attempt is a cry for help, then what is this. A whimper, a peep? I draw little window cracks of blood, etching line after line until it stops hurting.”

“She cannot chain my soul. Yes, she could hurt me. She'd already done so...I would bleed, or not. Scar, or not. Live, or not. But she could not hurt my soul, not unless I gave it to her.”

“Why are you being so mean?""Friends tell friends the truth.""yeah, but not to hurt, to help.”

“I didn't fit.I was a different size, a different shape. I kept trying to squeeze into a body, a skin suit, that was too small. It rubbed me the wrong way. I blistered. I callused. I scarred over and it kept hurting. I would never fit.But, really, I didn't want to fit. That's why it was hard.”

“You hurt her by starving yourself, you hurt her with your lies, and by fighting everybody who tries to help you. Emma can only sleep a couple of hours a night now. She's haunted by nightmares of monsters that eat our whole family. They eat us slowly, she says, so we can feel their sharp teeth. ”