If there's one thing I've learned, it's this: We all want everything to be okay. We don't even wish so much for fantastic or marvelous or outstanding. We will happily settle for okay, because most of...
But isn't this a dance? Isn't all of this a dance? Isn't that what we do with words? Isn't that what we do when we talk, when we spar, when we make plans or leave it to chance? Some of it's choreograp...
.Most times, when I'm having sex, I'd rather be reading.This was, I admit, a strange thing to say on a second date.I guess I was just giving you a warning.Most times when I'm reading, you said, I'd ra...
There are friends, but they are people to spend time with, not people to share time with.
You don't know me. You know one me, just like I know one you. And you can't know every me, and I can't know every you.
We always see our worst selves. Our most vulnerable selves. We need someone else to get close enough to tell us we’re wrong. Someone we trust.
Sometimes when you hit send, you can imagine the message going straight into the person's heart. But other times, like this time, it feels like the words are merely falling into a well.
Part of growing up is making sure your sense of reality isn't entirely grounded in your own mind.
Love is so painful, how could you ever wish it on anybody? And love is so essential, how could you ever stand in its way?
Laughter rarely lasts longer than a few seconds, it's true. But how enjoyable those few seconds are.
It’s as simple as that. Simple and complicated, as most true things are.
It is 12:23 in the morning, and people are coming to be here, coming to help. They saw what happened, and they can’t stay in their houses. Not just Harry and Craig’s friends. But their friends’ parent...
I'm not good at relationshipsI always manage to find the flawssometimes in othersbut mostly my own.I foretell the ending then go and create the causesave myselfand end up alone
I was horribly bookish, to the point of coming right out and saying it, which I knew was not socially acceptable. I particularly loved the adjective bookish, which I found other people used about as o...
I wake up thinking of yesterday. The joy is in remembering; the pain is in knowing it was yesterday.
I mean, what if love isn't a yes-or-no question? It's not either you're in love or you're not. I mean, aren't there different levels? And maybe these things, like words and expectations and whatever,...
I can't pretend to know what love is. It just is.
Freedom is also about what you will allow yourself to do.
Because sometimes you just have to dance like a madman in the Self-Help section of your local bookstore.
Answerless questions can destroy you. Move on.