I'd Known Enough People For Every Minute

If You Were Dead," Owen Told Her, "you'd Have Bigger Problems Than What You Were Wearing.

She Said Writting Novels Was Like Childbirth: If You Truly Remembered How Awful It Got, You'd Never Do It Again.

The Fate Of Your Heart Is Your Choice And No One Else Gets A Vote

It Hadn't Even Occured To Me That Somebody Would Believe Mine.

I Am Not Breaking My Rules,' I Snapped, Hating That I'd Ended Up On The Advice-recieving End Of Things, Jumping From Dear Remy To Confused In Cincinnati All In One Summer.