I think that if you were somehow able to measure the weight of human kindness, it would have weighed more on 9/11 than it ever had. On 9/11, all the hatred and murder could not compare with the weight of love, of bravery, of caring. I have to believe that.

There is no such thing as no choice. There is always a choice. The only question is whether it's a bearable one.

And as we drift into sleep, I feel something I’ve never felt before. A closeness that isn’t merely physical. A connection that defies the fact that we’ve only just met. A sensation that can only come from the most euphoric of feelings: belonging.

This is a difference between us: you desire what other people have, while I desire the things I used to have, or think I might have one day.

There is always something new to learn about the person you love.

There is no word for our kind of friendship. Two people who don't see each other a lot, but can make each other effortlessly happy

The word I think of is precarious. I am struck by how precarious it all is. How the things that hold us are only as strong as the faith we have in them.