And then something invisible snapped insider her, and that which had come together commenced to fall apart.
I’m on a roller coaster that only goes up, my friend.
I am going to take this bucket of water and pour it on the flames of hell, and then I am going to use this torch to burn down the gates of paradise so that people will not love God for want of heaven or fear of hell, but because He is God.
Sometimes you lose a battle. But mischief always wins the war.
When things break, it’s not the actual breaking that prevents them from getting back together again. It’s because a little piece gets lost – the two remaining ends couldn’t fit together even if they wanted to. The whole shape has changed.
I figured something out. The future is unpredictable.
You have a choice in this world, I believe, about how to tell sad stories, and we made the funny choice.
It is easy to forget how full the world is of people, full to bursting, and each of them imaginable and consistently misimagined.
I’m in love with you, and I know that love is just a shout into the void, and that oblivion is inevitable, and that we’re all doomed and that there will come a day when all our labor has been returned to dust, and I know the sun will swallow the only earth we’ll ever have, and I am in love with you.
The real heroes anyway aren’t the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention.
That didn’t happen, of course. Things never happened the way I imagined them.
Here’s to all the places we went. And all the places we’ll go. And here’s to me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou.
We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.
I’ll fight it. I’ll fight it for you. Don’t you worry about me, Hazel Grace. I’m okay. I’ll find a way to hang around and annoy you for a long time.
The only person I really wanted to talk to about Augustus Water’s death with was Augustus Waters.
The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives. I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture.
That’s who you really like. The people you can think out loud in front of.
It’s not life or death, the labyrinth. Suffering. Doing wrong and having wrong things happen to you. That’s the problem. Bolivar was talking about the pain, not about the living or dying. How do you get out of the labyrinth of suffering?
There’s some people in this world who you can just love and love and love no matter what.
I wanted to be one of those people who have streaks to maintain, who scorch the ground with their intensity. But for now, at least I knew such people, and they needed me, just like comets need tails.