I mean putting yourself out there in the way of overwhelming happiness and knowing you're also putting yourself in the way of terrible harm. I'm scared to be this happy. I'm scared to be this extreme.

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.

She had to have faith not just in trying but in failing. Was she strong enough to fail Was she strong enough not to

She hadn't chosen the brave life. She'd chosen the small, fearful one.

I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.

You thought you had the choice to stay still or move forward, but your didn't. As long as your heart kept pumping an your blood kept blowing and your lungs kept filling, you didn't. The pang she felt for Tibby carried something like envy. You couldn't stand still for anything short of death, and God knew she had tried.

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.