Did he die well?" No, I thought. Nobody did. They just died.

I always have someplace else I’d rather be, even if I don’t know where that is, yet.

No matter how interminable something feels, there is always, always an ending. Sometimes that's good, and sometimes it's bad; sometimes it's a matter of indifference, and sometimes it's heartbreaking, and your life is never the same thereafter.

After people have gone, you forget their faults, and you recall the ideal more than the person.

His lashes, fluttered like butterfly wings. "I could've made you happy, dove." "You did," I whispered

We're broken in complementary ways, thus rendering our damage comprehensible to each other.

I don’t like anyone knowing anything about me that I didn’t choose to tell them.