Love Is Worth The Sum Of Itself,

That Was The Way Love Was, Invisible, There Whether Or Not You Wanted To See It Or Admit To It.

Books May Well Be The Only True Magic.

When I Looked At Her, She Appeared To Be A Different Person From The One I'd Known... She Had Rewritten Everything, Our History Together, Our Friendship. Now I Was The Girl Who'd Stolen Andres; The Girl Who'd Lied To Her About Who I Was. Therefore, She Owned Me Nothing.

Real Love, After All, Was Worth The Price You Paid, However Briefly It Might Last.

Emily Brontë's "wuthering Heights" Was Extremely Important To Me.