“What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.Ilooked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth."I'm trying to figure out what you are.”

“Don't try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say.”

“What are you doing?" she asked."Nothing too terrible. Just feeling you.""That's it?" she raised her eyes."Truth?""Yes.""I'm trying to get up the nerve to kiss you."*swoon*”

“I'm trying to make some sense out of the phrase "Everything happens for a reason," and I think I've figured out what the reason is - to pissed me off.”

“You okay?" Anton asks, looking at me like he's trying to figure out if I'm drunk. His plans depend on me. I look as blank as possible and hope that it freaks him out. No point in my being the only miserable one.”

“What did you think?' I blurted out, heat rushing to my cheeks. 'Of what?''My writing.''Oh,'Ford said. He looked at me for a long moment before rising stiffly out of his lawn chair. 'I think the whole world should read your poems.”