Emotions are real, just not the reasons behind them.

What we do, our choices, that's what defines us

Emotions are real, just not the reasons behind them.

Is everyone as wrong about me as I am about them?

There is something about libraries, old libraries, that makes them seem almost sacred. There's a smell of paper and must and binding stuff. It's like all the books are fighting against decay, against turning into dust, and at the same time fighting for attention.

The ending has to fit. The ending has to matter, and make sense. I could care less about whether it's happy or sad or atomic. The ending is the place where you go, “Aha. Of course. That's right.”

I used to be embarrassed by my mom, but now I know what she is-she's a hero.