“It was my first big chance, but here I was, sitting back and letting it run through my fingers like so much water.”

“If instead of having ten fingers, I had ten combs for fingers, I'd love to meet Donald Trump, just so I could run my fingers through his hair.”

“Name me. Gaze into my eyes, study my smile and dimples and tell me what you see. I look like an Emma. I look like an Amy. I look like a Katherine. I look like a Kathryn. I look like your best friend's sister, your sister's best friend. Introduce me. Yell for me. Let me run away and call me back. Run your fingers through my hair and whisper my name. Call me whatever you want; it's just a name, after all.”

“I’ve just gone through so much in my life that pulling my top up just doesn’t seem like that big of a deal.”

“So much of my life had been spent taking and taking and taking. Thinking it was all about me, believing that everything came down to me and how I felt, what I wanted. Even in my grasping attempts to know God, I did exactly that: I grasped. I sought. Sometimes I waited. But I never opened myself, spread my soul wide as an offering so He could come and capture me. I never let Him run strong fingers through my soil, watering it with His grace so my fruit could grow and grow above the weeds that threatened to choke it out.”

“I eat spaghetti with my fingers, because it reminds me of me running my fingers through her wet red hair. Ah, but that’s life, no?”