We all know we're one day closer to the end when we wake up in the morning. We just kid ourselves that it's not happening.

You get use to someone—start to like them, even—and they leave. In the end, everyone leaves.

And just when I though things were starting to get better, everything had gone wrong again.

However cozy things seemed, the facts of life were the same. You couldn't escape death: It would get us all in the end.

I was tired of being me.

He loved me and I loved him, but the number in my head was telling me that he was going to die today. And the numbers had never been wrong.

How easy to be a bird or an animal, living from day to day, unaware you're alive, unaware that one day you will die.

And then, a strangely comforting thought trickled through me—I had nothing, so I could do anything now. Anything I wanted. I had nothing left to lose.

Life's not that simple. Not so easy to move on when the anger you've got is what keeps you going.

I don't understand, Jem. I don't understand why you'd leave me. Why would you that?

I hope for what I always hope for as a writer: a critical but kind reader. I think that is what we all hope for.

Every single person has the power to change the world and help people.

To be a man is, precisely, to be responsible.

The luxuries of civilization satisfy only those wants which they themselves create.

Keep positive and keep pushing on and things will turn good.

Writing about your community is difficult for any writer.

I think there is some methodology in my travels.

As soon as you start writing about how human beings interact with each other socially, you're into politics, aren't you?

People go to the zoo and they like the lion because it's scary. And the bear because it's intense, but the monkey makes people laugh.

To have a creative outlet that you can control is really important because you do a lot of waiting to be cast, then waiting to go into production, and then waiting on set.