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"The next day, Joan handed me a piece of paper as I arrived at the chapel. I unfolded it, and in the middle of the page was a painting she had made of a racing pigeon. It was completely different to how I imagined. The difference made me want to cry."

Brat Summer? Nah. Whale Fall.

"Girl whatever" I say, shaken to my core and fundamentally altered on a spiritual level.

We see what others choose to show us. We see the curls in their hair, but not the tangles in their hearts.

Books are like a spider's web; you'll only get more attached.

something I love about novels is that despite knowing I'll never get answers, I'm free to ask the questions.

"They are trying to come up with the meaning of life. They will read up on every philosopher. And sometimes I want to say, 'oh just guess!'.