Osteosarcoma sometimes takes a limb to check you out. The, if it like you, it takes the rest.
You see how fake it all is. It’s not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It’s a paper town.
At least I carpe’d that one diem.
I was struck by an awful thought, the kind that cannot be taken back once it escapes into the open air of consciousness; it seemed to me that this was not a place you go to live. It was a place you go to die.
This is the fear that made fish crawl out onto dry land and evolve lungs, the fear that teaches us to run, the fear that makes us bury our dead.
And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation.
That tastes like hope feels.
You had been a paper boy to me all these years – two dimensions as a character on the page and two different, but still flat, dimensions as a person. But that night you turned out to be real.
I mean, he was something that happened to me, you know? But before he was this minor figure in the drama of my life he was – you know, the central figure in the drama of his own life.
I’m in love with you, and I’m not in the business of denying myself the simple pleasure of saying true things.
Okay is BURSTING with sensuality.
You never know. It’s just. It’s like. POOF. And you’re gone.
I thought of the one thing about home that I missed, my dad’s study with its built-in, floor-to-ceiling shelves sagging with thick biographies and the black leather chair that kept me just uncomfortable enough to keep from feeling sleepy as I read.
Whatever, great day today. Best day of my life.
It hurt, and that is not a euphemism. It hurt like a beating.
I wondered if there would ever be a day when I didn’t think about Alaska, wondered whether I should hope for a time when she would be a distant memory – recalled only on the anniversary of her death, or maybe a couple of weeks after, remembering only after having forgotten.
When you say nasty things about people, you should never say the true ones, because you can’t really fully and honestly take those back...
Where do you come up with these zingers, Clint? Do you own some kind of joke factory in Indonesia where you’ve got eight-year-olds working ninety hours a week to deliver you that kind of top-quality witticism? There are boy bands with more original material.
Witness also that when we talk about literature, we do so in the present tense. When we speak of the dead, we are not so kind.
Hank, when people call people nerds mostly what they’re saying is,‘You like stuff’.