The boy I loved didn't know I existed. Then again, he was obsessed with Camus, so he didn't know if any of us existed.

It feels like I am wasting time. I mean, that's always the case. My life doesn't add up to anything.

That's what the voices in your head are for, to get you through the silent parts.

It's hard to answer a question you haven't been asked. It's hard to show you tried unless you end up succeeding.

Love weaves itself from hundreds of threads.

Laughter rarely lasts longer than a few seconds, it's true. But how enjoyable those few seconds are.

What did it matter to me? Did I think that by making you rational about one thing, I could make you rational about everything? Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to save you from your fears