“Now I'm dreaming, will I ever find you now?I walk in circles but I'll never figure outWhat I mean to you, do I belongI try to fight this but I know I'm not that strongAnd I feel so helpless hereWat...”

“I am so scared of what will kill me in the end for I am not prepared, I hope i'll get the chance to be someone, to be human, look what we've done”

“Two things I'm obsessed with are the countryside and fields and being in the open space and body parts, so you'll hear me mentioning body parts and human anatomy. I've listened to my songs and I th...”

“I was super brainy and a proper geek at school, but there would always be a boy. But that sort of obsession did turn me into a songwriter. My writing has always come from that feeling of infatuation.”

“Christmas in L.A. is weird. There's no snow. It's not even cold.”

“I instinctively dress a bit tougher because I've spent a lot of time in the U.S. and I realised there was a certain image projected of me here. I've always been an absolute rebel. When I was in my ...”

“Its hard to stay up. Its been a long long dayAnd you've got the sandman at your door. But hang on, leave the TV on and lets do it anyway.Its ok. You can always sleep through work tomorrow. Ok?Hey, ...”

“The waters of the stream played the part of the orchestra, and the sunlight provided the dancers. Every now and then a crescendo of wind highlighted the symphony in the clearing by the creek.”

“Dont get stressed over the little things and make sure you live life to the fullest.”

“I wish you could be kissed, Jane,' he said. 'Because I would beg just one off you. Under all this.' He flailed an arm toward the stars.”

“The blue of the sky is one of the most special colors in the world, because the color is deep but see-through both at the same time.”

“Is this thing safe?""Safe as life," Gansey replied.”

“All words are pegs to hang ideas on.”

“A word is not the same with one writer as it is with another. One tears it from his guts. The other pulls it out of his overcoat pocket.”

“No doubt I shall go on writing, stumbling across tundras of unmeaning, planting words like bloody flags in my wake....”