We're professional worriers. You're constantly imagining things that could go wrong and then writing about them.

Walt Whitman is HOT! I mean, that guy could sound his barbaric yawps over the roofs of my world any time.

Remember that time in the minivan, twenty minutes ago, when we didn't die?

I pulled the oxygen tubes from my nostrils and raised the tube up over my head, handing it to Dad. I wanted it to be just me and just him.

Because it's kind of great, being an idea that everybody likes. But I could never be the idea to myself, not all the way. And Agloe is a place where a paper creation became real. A dot on the map became a real place, more real than the people who created the dot could never have imagined. I thought maybe the paper cutout of a girl could start becoming real here also. And it seemed like a way to tell that paper girl who cared about popularity and clothes and everything else: 'You are going to the paper towns. And you are never coming back.

‎"I go to seek a Great Perhaps.

Tonight, darling, we are going to right a lot of wrongs.