There are days when I think I don't believe anymore. When I think I've grown too old for miracles. And that's right when another seems to happen.

We sat looking out at the ocean. There was just so much of it, and it never failed to take my breath away. Looking at the ocean gave me the same sensation I'd get staring at a sky full of stars- that I was small. Like the way a math problem reveals its undeniable truth, I knew when I stared into this sort of endlessness that my life didn't count for much of anything. And knowing that, that I was nothing but a speck, I felt pretty lucky for all that I had.

Some things you can fix, and some things you can't. And I just think it is a shame to walk away from the things you can.

Friends, I was pretty sure, lift their friends up; they don't weigh them down like a sack full of stones

I think about how we can't always live in the moment because moments pass, and when we're lucky, we have the kind of moments that we can't help wanting to go back to. We think about them, remember how they felt, and when more time passes we tell stories of these moments that are worth reliving.

Precision about language can be really, really annoying. It can make you miss the point of what the other person is saying altogether.

When there's something or someone, when there's anything that makes you happy, you don't let a continent or an ocean or an empty pocket keep you apart