Because freedom may be a forbidden fruit in tyrannies, but once tasted, it is unforgettable.

Isn’t it funny that what the Japanese authors consider their first page is our happily-ever-after last one? When you think about it, it’s not a bad way to approach life. What appears to be an ending – heartbreaking wounds that you can and cannot see – may just be a beginning, a start of a brand-new adventure.

I swallowed hard. Erik thought my body was beautiful, Karin that it was enviable. At random times, people had noted that my hands were beautiful, or my hair. The Twisted Sisters had called my art beautiful. Mom had the best intentions and always told me before and after my laser surgeries that I would be beautiful. But no one had ever said that I was beautiful, all my parts taken together, not just the bits and pieces.

He knew me in all the ways that truly mattered: the shape of my fears, the contours of my dreams.

You know, there are easier ways to meet a guy than to run him over.

No power was total, no power permanent, no power absolute.

My confidence was of the hothouse variety, carefully cultivated under highly regulated conditions. One wrong look, one mean comment, and my facade would wither.

That’s exactly why nature always trumps gardens. Gardens are just reality pruned of chaos. What doesn’t work you rip out.

Safe, I decided, didn’t leave much room for fun.

But even quashed rebellions leave us different. Because freedom may be a forbidden fruit in tyrannies, but once tasted, it is unforgettable.