Okay, he said. I gotta go to sleep. It’s almost one. Okay, I said. Okay, he said. I giggled and said, Okay. And then the line was quiet but not dead. I almost felt like he was there in my room with me...
Neither novels or their readers benefit from any attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the found...
Love is keeping the promise anyway.
Language buries, but does not resurrect.
Je pense que j'taime
It's not because I want to make out with her.Hold on. He grabbed a pencil and scrawled excitedly at the paper as if he'd just made a mathematical breakthrough and then looked back up at me. I just did...
It was an indulgence, learning last words. Other people had chocolate; I had dying declarations.
In the darkest days, the Lord puts the best people into your life. (p. 28)
I thought you hung the moon.
I smiled. She smiled. I believed the smile.
I missed the future.
I am crying, he thought, opening his eyes to stare through the soapy, stinging water. I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater. But he wasn't crying....
Because there is no glory in illness. There is no meaning to it. There is no honor in dying of.
I looked over at Augustus Waters, who looked back at me. You could almost see through his eyes they were so blue. "There will come a time," I said, "when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come...
You think you're the painter, but you're the canvas
Whether it hurts is kind of irrelevant.
What matters to you defines your mattering.
We are now as I wished we could be then.
We are not as frail as the strings would make us believe.
That doesn't sound like my Margo, she said, and I thought of my Margo, and all of us looking at her reflection in different funhouse mirrors.