I am a drifter, and as lonely as that can be, it is also remarkably freeing. I will never define myself in terms of anyone else.

As long as we can conjure, who needs anything else? As long as we can agree on the magical lie and be happy, what more is there to ask for? “I loved you from that moment on,” I say. “I loved you from that moment on,” you agree.

You spend so much time, so much effort, trying to hold yourself together. And then everything falls apart anyway.

His books are kept on freestanding shelves hung at different angles on a sea-green wall. They defy gravity, as good books should.

Self-esteem can be so exhausting. I want to cut my hair, change my clothes, erase the pimple from the near-tip of my nose, and strengthen my upper-arm definition, all in the next hour.

Love is so painful, how could you ever wish it on anybody? And love is so essential, how could you ever stand in its way?

I've lost track of where friendship ends and falling begins. (this is the foolish refrain of the hopelessly devoted.) there are times I want to kiss you midsentence. undo the not-doing with one gesture.