On my license, it says I'm an organ donor, but the truth is I'd consider being an organ martyr. I'm sure I'm worth a lot more dead than alive - the sum of the parts equal more than the whole. I wonder who might wind up walking around with my liver, my lungs, even my eyeballs. I wonder what poor asshole would get stuck with whatever it is in me that passes for a heart.

I remember for that one moment, I believe I was hitch hiking on one of those comets, falling so fast that I'd surely burn away before I ever hit the ground.

so i do what i do best. i move in the opposite direction.

I don't want to tell people what to think. I'm the least qualified person in the world for that. If I'd go around pretending to be the expert on everything, I'd become Dan Brown, and I don't understand that. We all do our research if we're good writers, and we all work hard to get it right, but that doesn't mean we're experts in the field. The best we can do is challenge people to learn the facts themselves.

She was forced to consider the startling fact that the love of her life might not actually be someone with whom she could spend a lifetime.

What you notice is the loneliness. Daniel started to isolate himself, because it hurt less than being pushed away.

it was possible to grow up in an instant, that you could look down and see the line in the sand dividing your life now from what it used to be.