Ellen Hopkins

...I know there's no such thing as forever. So what can we be, in the now?

Librarians were like guardian angels, with graying hair and beady eyes, magnified through reading glasses, and always read to recommend new literary windows to gaze through.

...Things happenedwhen you were little. Things youdon't remember now, and don't wantto. But they need to escape,need to worm their way outof that dark place in your brainwhere you keep them stashed.

Innocence eroded into nightmare.All because of very bad touch.Love, corrupted.

What's the point of being a hero when everyone thinks you're a villain?

Life is all about change. If it were static, think about how boring it would be. You can't be afraid of it, and you can't worry that you'll mess things up.

Spilling a Secret What its size, will have varying consequences. It__ not possible to predict what will happen if you open the gunnysack, let the cat escape. A liberated feline might purr on your lap, or it might scratch your eyes out. You can__ tell until you loosen the knot. Do you chance losing a friendship, if that friend__ well-being will only be preserved by betraying sworn-to silence trust? Once the seam is ripped, can it be mended again? And if that proves impossible, will you be okay when it all falls to pieces?

GhostsTake shape under moonlight,materialize in dreams.Shadows. Silhouettesof what is no more. Butghosts don'tbother me. The day bringsbigger things to worry aboutthan flimsy remains ofyesterday. No, spooks don'tscare me.Gauzy apparitions mightprank your psyche oragitate your nightmares,but lackingflesh and bloodthey are powerlessto hurt you-cannot hopeto inflict the kind of damagethat real, livepeople do.

Funny thing about the monster. The worse he treats you, the more you love him.

Have you everhad so much to saythat your mouth closed up tightstruggling to harnessthe nuclear forcecoalescing within your words?Have you everhad so many thoughtschurning inside you that you didn__dare let them escapein case they blew you wide open?Have you everbeen so angry that youcouldn__ look in the mirrorfor fear of finding the face of evilglaring back at you?

And the scary thing is, I__ on a fast track to that same aviary. Unless I find my wings.

I thought he'd run if he knew. Instead, he offered help, not that I believed he could possibly help. I thought he'd turn his back, close his heart, slink away. Instead, he promised sanctuary.

I wanted to meet the monster. Why go down if you can go up?

Life was radical right after I met the monster.Later, life became harder, complicated.Ultimately, a living hell, like swimming against a riptide,Walking the wrong direction in the fast lane of the freeway, Waking from sweetest dreams to find yourself in the middle of a nightmare.

It's probably weird to think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels. Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you.

A chatWith the Grim Reapershould be enough to scareaway any thought of relapse.Wish it were that easy,but not even days conversingwith death can disintegratethe claws of addiction.

It's probably weird to think about an addiction like it's a sentient being, but that's how it feels. Like it's something living inside you. Something you can't get rid of because killing it means killing you. I can't really understand addictions to drugs or alcohol. Things that control you. But an eating disorder is an addiction you control. Wait, is that paradoxical? I prefer to believe not.

Nonfiction speaks to the head. Fiction speaks to the heart. Poetry speaks to the soul. It's the essence of beauty. The essence of pain. It pleases the eye and the ear.