She was supposed to be putting her life together right now, and all she could seem to do was throw grenades at it.

And I thought about the color and I realized what blue it was. It was the soft and changeable, essential blue of a well-worn pair of pants. Pants = Love

Love who you love while you have them. That's all you can do. Let them go when you must. If you know how to love, you'll never run out.

Someday when you're twenty, maybe, I'll see you again. You'll be this hot soccer star at some great school, with a million guys more interesting than I am chasing you down. And you know what? I'll see you and I'll pray you want me still.

It was a blessing and also a curse of handwritten letters that unlike email you couldn’t obsessively reread what you’d written after you’d sent it. You couldn’t attempt to un-send it. Once you’d sent it it was gone. It was an object that no longer belonged to you but belonged to your recipient to do with what he would. You tended to remember the feeling of what you’d said more than the words. You gave to object away and left yourself with the memory. That was what it was to give.

One must have a good memory to keep the promises one has made.

There are going to be moments of deep, deep doubts, and you have to have faith that your initial idea was good and just muddle through.