I will die like a true-blue rebel. Don't waste any time in mourning - organize.

She breathed deeply of the scent of decaying fiction, disintegrating history, and forgotten verse, and she observed for the first time that a room full of books smelled like dessert: a sweet snack made of figs, vanilla, glue, and cleverness.

I hope if there is another world, we will not be judged too harshly for the things we did wrong here—that we will at least be forgiven for the mistakes we made out of love.

It was like wondering how evil had come into the world or what happens to a person after he dies: an interesting philosophical exercise, but also curiously pointless, since evil and death happened, regardless of the why and the how and what-it-meant.

Was there any human urge more pitiful-or more intense- than wanting another chance at something?

You'll have pie in the sky when you die.

You think you know someone. But mostly you just know what you want to know.