When someone's been gone a long time, at first you save up all the things you want to tell them. You try to keep track of everything in your head. But it's like trying to hold on to a fistful of sand: all the little bits slip out of your hands, and then you're just clutching air and grit.

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.

Victory is a thousand times sweeter when you're the underdog.

Looking on the bright side of life never killed anybody.

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

But the little things are what make up life

When boy likes you, you say no thank you. You don't kick him on the ground.