There’s a certain something to the way girls walk – something about the way their legs connect to their hips.
I still have my dad’s phone. I keep it and a charging cord hidden in Harold’s trunk next to the spare tire. A ton of pictures on his phone were of leafless branches dividing up the sky, like the view I had as we floated under that sycamore tree. I always wondered what he saw in that, in the split-apart sky.
You’re upsetting the black Santas.
You don’t get to be in anything else-in friendship or in anger or in hope. All you can be in is love.
And it’s only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs.
Dad: “You’re a survivor yourself, then?” Augustus: “I am. I didn’t cut this fella off for the sheer unadulterated pleasure of it, although it is an excellent weight-loss strategy. Legs are heavy!” Dad:.
It was nice–in the dark and the quiet, with no possibility of me saying anything to screw it up, and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.
And that infinitesimal change ripples outward – even smaller but everlasting. I will get forgotten, but the stories will last. And so we all matter – maybe less than a lot, but always more than none.
His enthusiasm was adorable.
But there is an important difference, and that important difference was manifested in Colin’s throbbing pain. Bees sting people only once, and then die. Hornets, on the other hand, can sting repeatedly. Also, hornets, at least the way Colin figured it, are meaner. Bees just want to make honey. Hornets want to kill you.
Sorry about Derek.” “Oh, I got over it, darling. It took me a sleeve of Girl Scout Thin Mints and forty minutes to get over that boy.
She kind of hates Orlando; she called it a paper town. Like, you know, everything so fake and flimsy. I think she just wanted a vacation from that.
Paper Towns for a Paper Girl, who wants to think and read clearly.
I don’t want to be part of an us that makes a them of the world’s most vulnerable people.
Hay que sentir el dolor.
It is at any rate a pleasure to meet such ontologically improbable creatures.
We are all going,” McKinley said to his wife, and we sure are. There’s your labyrinth of suffering. We are all going. Find your way out of that maze.
Well, I wasted my whole goddamned life, but at least I broke into SeaWorld with Margo Roth Spiegelman my senior year of high school. At least I carpe’d that one diem.
Last day of school for us. And all day long, it was hard not to walk around, thinking about the lastness of it all.
Gus really loved you, you know,” he said. “I know.” “He wouldn’t shut up about it.” “I know,” I said. “It was annoying.” “I didn’t find it that annoying,” I said.