So I walked back to my room and collapsed on the bottom bunk, thinking that if people were rain, I was drizzle and she was a hurricane.

She would stay on the road and in hiding, a balloon floating through the sky, eating up hundreds of miles a day with a help of the perpetual tailwind.

Talking to a drunk person was like talking to an extremely happy, severely brain-damaged three-year-old.

When you're walking home at night, do you even get creeped out and even though it's silly and embarrassing you just want to run home?" It seemed too secret and personal to admit to virtual stranger, but I told her, "Yeah, totally." For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered, "Run run run run run," and took off, pulling me behind her.

You can pick your friends, and you can pick your nose, but you can’t pick your friend’s nose.

When we read the right book generously, it can change the way think about the world around us.

The preciousness of the moment, which should make it easier to talk, makes it harder.