He loved to read. He loved words, the way they string together into sentences and stories. He wanted to study them, to know and create them, to share them with the world.
My pen was a life raft in the middle of the ocean, it was the only place I could ever be free.
We move closer,
and when I reach
for it, I find…
a perfect paper airplane.
His hand closed automatically around the fake Horcrux, but in spite of everything, in spite of the dark and twisting path he saw stretching ahead for himself, in spite of the final meeting with Voldemort he knew must come, whether in a month, in a year, or in ten, he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.
She looked as the fireworks exploded in a shower of sparks— sparks that painted the clouds overhead as they fell, one by one, in streaking lines of golden fire, like angels falling from the sky.
Cassandra Clare, from City of Glass
But for that one instant, I concentrated on reaching the surface, feeling the water break across my face as I burst through it into the air to finally breathe on my own.
Instead, I tell him that he’ll always be a part of my life, and then I let him go.
Laurie Faria Stolarz, from Deadly Little Games (thanks, Sarah)