I wondered if this was how it felt to sell your soul to the devil. I bet there were awesome cookies in hell, too.

I'm just as big a fool as the rest of them.

Observable Fact: I don’t believe in magic.
Observable Fact: We are magic.

I can almost feel the wind beneath my wings; I can almost taste the thrill of flying away from this small town and never looking back.

He didn’t save me, though. He allowed me the freedom to save myself, which is the very best type of rescue.

It's as if Mom was expressing herself in a language other than English; a language that Grandma wouldn't be able to interpret simply by looking at the music notes.