Our moment had passed somehow. I was different. He was, too. Without our “madness” to unite us, there wasn’t anything much there. Or maybe too much had happened in too short a time. It’s like when you take a trip with someone you don’t know very well. Sometimes you can get very close very quickly, but then after the trip is over, you realise all that was a false sort of closeness. An intimacy based on the trip more than the travellers, if that makes any sense.

The casualities seemed to go on and on. Just when I thought I was done losing her, I would find yet another way to love her all over again.

I have so much paperwork. I'm afraid my paperwork has paperwork.

They should tell you when you’re born: have a suitcase heart, be ready to travel.

I was crying a little for the boy I had wanted him to be and the boy he hadn’t turned out to be.

Intimacy doesn't have all that much to do with backseats of cars. Real intimacy is brushing your teeth together.

Sometimes books don't find us until the right time.