You get a good review, and it’s like crack. You need another hit. And another. And another. I know authors are like Tinkerbell and generally need applause to survive, but it’s a slippery slope.

But hey, what's life without a little adversity?"
That had to have been the fakest attempt at optimism since my fourth grade teacher tried reasoning that we were better off without the dead kids in our class because it'd mean more turns on the playground swings for the rest of us.

How do you fight against a mountain? How do you move it when you don't even have a shovel?”
“Maybe you don't have to move it,” Etta said, folding the gown over the lid of the trunk. “Maybe you have to climb it.

Und manchmal passiert einem das Leben einfach, und man kann ihm nicht ausweichen Es kracht voll in einen rein, weil es sehen will, aus was für einem Holz man geschnitzt ist.

You do have a choice, you know,” Etta told her after a moment. “There is always a choice.

It's our choices that matter in the end. Not wishes, not words, not promises.