Autores:
  • I looked at her. my lovely, tall mother with her pretty coil of hair and her hard, bitter mouth. Her veins were never open. Her heart never leapt out to flop helplessly on the lawn. She never melted into puddles. She was normal. Always. At any cost.

    E. Lockhart (2014). “We Were Liars”, p.195, Delacorte Press