There is always the risk: something is good and good and good and good, and then all at once it gets awkward. All at once, she sees you looking at her, and then she doesn't want to joke around with you anymore, because she doesn't want to seem flirty, because she doesn't want you to think she likes you. It's such a disaster, whenever, in the course of human relationships, someone begins to chisel away at the wall of separation between friendship and kissing.

At least for tonight. In sickness and in health. In good times and in bad. For richer, for poorer. 'Till dawn do us part.

You can't just make me different, and then leave. Because I was fine before, Alaska. I was just fine with me and last words and school friends, and you can't just make me different and then die.

I fear your faith has been mis- placed—but then, faith usually is.

The Romans knew it: quod me alit me extinguit, they said: That which nourishes me, extinguishes me.

They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing.

It's just that I learned a while ago that the best way to get people to like you is not to like them too much.