Aching familiar in a way that made me wish I was still eight. Eight was before death or divorce or heartbreak. Eight was just eight. Hot dogs and peanut butter, mosquito bites and splinters, bikes and boogie boards. Tangled hair, sunburned shoulders, Judy Blume, in bed by nine thirty.

It's the imperfections that make things beautiful.

Best friends are important. They're the closest thing to a sister you'll ever have.

I wonder what it's like to have that much power over a boy. I don't think I'd want it - it's a lot of responsibility to hold a person's heart in your hands.

I need you to know that no matter what happens, it was worth it to me. Being with you, loving you. It was all worth it

It’s hard to throw away history. It was like you were throwing away a part of yourself.

Love is scary: it changes; it can go away. That's the part of the risk. I don't want to be scared anymore.