You may choose your song, but know this: Tiny. Cooper. Hates. Over. The. Rainbow.

I have never really thought of him as a person, either.... A guy whose strings were broken, who didn’t feel the root of his leaves of grass connected to the field, a guy who was cracked. Like me.

Not to ask the obvious question, but why Alaska?

I worked hard to meet his eyes, even though they were the kind of pretty that's hard to look at.

He responded a few minutes later. Okay. I wrote back. Okay. He responded: Oh, my God, stop flirting with me!

Our lives are composed of a finite set of moments that we choose how to spend.

It seems to me that all the things we keep in sealed boxes are both alive and dead until we open the box, that the unobserved is both there and not.