I say good-bye to hope, but I also say good-bye to hope's disappointment.

There has to be a moment at the beginning when you wonder whether you’re in love with the person or in love with the feeling of love itself.

You were in Sweden?" Boomer asked. "No," I said. "The trip got called off at the last minute. Because of political the unrest" "In Sweden?" Priya seemed skeptical. "Yeah-isn't it strange how the Times isn't covering it? Half the country's on strike because of that thing the crown prince said about Pippi Longstocking Which means no meatballs for Christmas, if you know what I mean." "That's so sad!" Boomer said.

There are few things harder than being born into the wrong body.

Every person is a possibility. The hopeless romantics feel it most acutely, but even for others, the only way to keep going is to see every person as a possibility.

Danger comes in many forms, I suppose. For some people, it might be jumping off a bridge or climbing impossible moutains. For others, it could be a tawdry love affair or telling off a mean-looking bus driver because he doesn't like to stop for noisy teenagers. It could be cheating at cards or eating a peanut even though you're allergic. For me, danger might be getting out from the protective cloak of my family and venturing into the world more of my own, even though I don't know what- or who- awaits me.

This is the trap of having something to live for: Everything else seems lifeless.