How can you not see
The pain in her eyes
As she sits there and cries

How can you not see
The scars in her heart
As it rips her apart

How can you not see
The thoughts in her head
As she wishes she was dead

How can you not see
That three little words
Eight little letters

Is all it would take

All that man has ever thought
Or what he'll ever be
Transpires through
Documentation
Written
Throughout
History


~~~~~~~~~
Books  they are the legacies
Left to  all mankind
Past from generation
To the  next one left behind
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
They are the wisest of all counsellors
The quietest of friends
The most patient of teachers
On whom one can depend
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
No  comparison
To mans inventions
Regardless of the toil
it took
Even  our  creator
Left his words

Within a book.........

Dearest Mr. Green,
It was an honor to have my heart broken by you. Your book, The Fault in Our Stars was one of the best recommendations I may have ever crossed. I thank you deeply for all the hours of pure giddiness and tortuous pain that you created in both Hazel Grace and Augustus Waters. However, I do have many questions about Hazel's future: does she ever loose her battle to her cancer? What happened to Augustus's parents soon after the loss of their son set into reality?

Your story honestly had my heart ripping slowly into pieces, the way you described how Hazel Grace and Augustus had crossed paths and went down a beautiful road into the hearts of all your readers... gave me the deepest appreciation of the young fighters of childhood cancers.

As a daughter of a cancer survivor, I've had my fair shares of visiting support groups with my mother while she was going through her treatments. I remember the panic I felt every time she went in for PET scans and Chemo, worrying for any ounce of her body to betray her. Thank you for making the pain and worry of cancer so beautifully worded, and the uncertainty of how quickly cancer can easily take the happiness away from someone.  
Thank you for the hopes given to me when you wrote the heartfelt words, “Some infinities are bigger than other infinities.”

You are truly an incredible soul with a heartbreaking habit of writing books with main characters who tend to die of some serious form of illness. I find you to be both evil yet so perfect when it comes to your stories. You are my inspiration. However, I am slightly upset that AIA is not a real book. It would be quiet a wonderful rollercoaster to ride.

“Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book. And then there are books like An Imperial Affliction, which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like betrayal”  Yours, could not have put my thoughts onto paper in any more of a perfected way.

Yesterday, you gained a new fan. I adore you as an author and person. I really do.

Sincerely,
m.b
July 11, 2013- I have yet to hear a reply...

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
did gyre and gimble in the wabe.
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
the frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand:
Long time the maxome foe he sought-
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood a while in thought.
As in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came.
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack.
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"Has thou slain the Jabberwock?
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Calloh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe:
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.