His Eyes Are The Color Of Honey.

You Came Form Different Starts And You'll Come To Different Ends.

The Idea—the Fact Of It, The Fact That He Even Noticed And Thought About Me For More Than One Second—is Huge And Overwhelming, Makes My Legs Go Tingly And My Hands Feel Numb.

Hate Isn’t The Most Dangerous Thing, He’d Said. Indifference Is.

Perhaps This Was How The Sparrows Did It Too; Perhaps They Were Looking So Hard At The Peaks And Tips Of The New Rooftops Coated With Dew, And The Vast New Horizon, That They Only Forgot That They Did Not Know How To Fly Until They Were Already In Midair.

It's The Way He Says My Name: Like Music.