Ultimately, it's my choice and only my choice.

Our story is over, yes, but our journey isn't, because we'll always live on the edge until the day we die.

Because this is our life. We met on the road; we grew to know and to love each other on the road. It's where we were meant to be for however long, and it's what we're going to do until it becomes clear that we're meant to do something else.

It’s like irresistible poison: I’m mesmerized by the way it’s making me feel though it has the potential to crush my soul and I drink it down anyway.

Well, I’m glad you didn’t drown.” His eyes warm up with his face. I smile back at him. “Yeah, that would’ve sucked.” “Definitely.

Promise me that if I ever get Alzheimer’s or dementia, and I don’t remember anyone that you’ll visit me every day and read to me like Noah read to Allie.

Why does everybody have to be with somebody? It’s a stupid delusion and a really pathetic way of thinking.