But it was sure a privilege to love him, huh? I nodded into his shirt.Gives you an idea how I feel about you, he said.My old man. He always knew just what to say.
But it was only hot outside, and generally I only walked outside between one air-conditioned place to another.
But as for me: I must ask the wounded man where he is hurt, because I cannot become the wounded man. The only wounded man I can be is me.
Ben's tongue is like sunscreen...It's good for your health and should be applied liberally.
Ben Starling, you better not have bought your token black friend a racist shirt
Augustus half smiled. Because you're beautiful, I enjoy looking at beaufitul people, and I decided a while ago not to deny myself the simpler pleasures of existence. . . . I mean, particularly given t...
Augustus asked if I wanted to go with him to Support Group, but I was really tired from my busy day of Having Cancer, so I passed
Augustus Waters was the great star-crossed love of my life. Ours was an epic love story, and I won’t be able to get more than a sentence into it without disappearing into a puddle of tears. Gus knew....
At some point, you just pull off the Band-Aid, and it hurts, but then it's over and you're relieved.
Ashes to ashes. Garage sale to garage sale, I said.
As lives go, I'll take the quietly desperate over the radically bipolar.
Are there any Nazis left that I could hunt down and bring to justice? Augustus asked while we leaned over the vitrines reading Otto’s letters and the gutting replies that no, no one had seen his child...
Anything that happens all at once is just as likely to unhappen all at once, you know?
And then we were kissing. My hand let go of the oxygen cart and I reached up for his neck, and he pulled me up by my waist onto my tiptoes. As his parted lips met mine, I started to feel breathless in...
And then I was asleep. That deep, can-still-taste-her-in-my-mouth sleep, that sleep that is not particularly restful but difficult to wake up from all the same.
And even though I laughed with them, it felt like I was watching the whole thing from somewhere else, like I was watching a movie about my life instead of living it.
And all at once I knew how Margo Roth Spiegelman felt when she wasn't being Margo Roth Spiegelman: she felt empty. She felt the unscaleable wall surrounding her. I thought of her asleep on the carpet...
And I can’t help but feel that Whitman, for all his blustering beauty, might have been just a bit too optimistic. We can hear others, and we can travel to them without moving, and we can imagine them,...
Amsterdam is like the rings of a tree: It gets older as you get closer to the center.
All salvation is temporary