About Kami Garcia: Kami Garcia is an American writer.
But when you’re in love, you’re not in control of what you think or say or do. And there is nothing I love more than control, and nothing I love less than not having it. So you tell me —what is a person like me supposed to do with a feeling lik...
Hey Rid?" She stopped and turned to look at him, almost ruefully. Like she couldn't help what she was any more then a shark could help being a shark, but if she could... "Yeah, Shrinky Dink?" "You're not all bad." She looked right at him and almost s...
Wait, I got it. We, uh, won the battle and lost the war, or was it the other way around? 'Cause around here, it's hard to tell sometimes.
Seventeen moons, seventeen years, Eyes where Dark or Light appears, Gold for yes and green for no, Seventeen the last to know.
Don’t think so. We all make our choices, and those choices have consequences.
You climbed into my window in the middle of the night. So, either you're some kind of Vampire or some kind of Perv. Which is it?
She closed her eyes, and I closed mine, and even though we weren't holding hands, it felt like we were. Because what we had, we knew.
If you could imagine the color of anger, it had been splashed over every wall. Rage, something dense and seething, was hanging from every chandelier, resentment woven into thick carpets padding the room, hatred flickering underneath every lampshade. ...
Got it. Demon. Death. Doom.
You're incredibly, absolutely, extremely, supremely, unbelievably different.
It wasn't about how she looked, which was pretty, even though she was always wearing the wrong clothes and those beat-up sneakers. It wasn't about what she said in class--usually something no one else would've thought of, and if they had, something t...
Thing were falling apart. We just could not slow down. We were evolving into something greater, perhaps too much for our own good. And one thing always remained as I moved on. I saved a little bit of love just in case you would ever return home.
It was like being born in Germany after World War II, being from Japan after Pearl Harbor, or America after Hiroshima. History was a bitch sometimes. You couldn't change where you were from. But still, you didn't have to stay there.
She was wearing a purple T-shirt, with a skinny black dress over it that made you remember how much of a girl she was, and trashed black boots that made you forget.
In one moment I was feeling everything and I was feeling nothing.
I wanted to stay this way forever. Which, it turns out, was exactly five more minutes.
Hey, Ethan." "Yeah?" "Remember the Twinkie on the bus? The one I gave you in second grade, the day we met?" "The one you found on the floor and gave me without telling me? Nice." He grinned and shot the ball. "It never really fell on the floor. I mad...
Aunt Mercy put down her tiles, one at a time. I-T-C-H-I-N. Aunt Grace leaned closer to the board, squinting. "Mercy Lynne, you're cheatin' again! What kinda word is that? Use it in a sentence." "I'm itchin' ta have some a that white cake." "That's no...
I'll drive like my grandma. I'll drive like your grandma." "You wouldn't say that if you knew my gramma.
The guy thought he was Mick Jagger. I felt bad for him.
They really hate you, yes they do. They hate everyone, how 'bout you?
