Everyone I looked at, their whole lives, did exactly what they were supposed to do without even questioning it, without even wondering if they could do something different.

But it turns out that even if I don’t talk a lot, when it’s something that matters I still have a lot to say.

She says you're not truly human until you've had your heart broken and you've broken someone's heart.

I hate it when people make fun of me and it turns out they're right.

Everyone's scared. So scared they can't sleep sometimes. Or eat. Or keep their weight on." "Then why bother playing?" I asked. It was a whisper, this question. "Because. You love the game. You love the people you play with. You love winning, maybe. You love that one moment when you get it right . . . I dunno. Why do you play?" "Because," I whispered, "it's who I am." Sounds like a good reason to me.

You can’t think about how much you have left to do because that’s just one thought, one sad thought, that’ll make you bummed out all day long. Instead you’ve got to think about how much you’ve already done.

How could I pretend to be someone else when I was already failing at being the person I already was?