It's that quirky kind of weekend feeling they write ridiculous sunny-day songs about. You know the ones--I'm sure they're on your iPod even though you'd never admit it. — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“I am the blade that is swung by your hand, Slicing a rainbow's arc, I am the clapper, but you are the bell, Tolling the gathering dark. If you are the singer, then I am the song, A threnody, requiem,… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“Picking locks was not a skill he had ever cultivated, but he persisted day after day, turning the tip of his talon into different… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“If you come anywhere near my daughter, I will see to it that you are taken apart piece by bloody piece. Do I make… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
Dead kids are put on pedestals, but mentally ill kids get hidden under the rug. — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“The fear of not living is a deep, abiding dread of watching your own potential decompose into irredeemable disappointment when “should be” gets crushed… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
That's wisdom you can take to the grave, and dig up when you need it! — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“And you know the darkness beyond despair, just as intimately as you know the soaring heights. Because in this and all universes, there is… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“while an adult could rarely be universally loved, everyone could love the right kid.” — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
“It's like art, you know? Picasso had to prove to the world he can paint the right way, before he goes putting both eyes… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
The way I see it, the impossible happens all the time; but we're so good at taking it for granted, we forget it was… — Neal Shusterman Copy Share Image
