That's the great thing about being in the third grade. If you've got one polysyllabic adjective, everyone thinks you're a genius.

I came here looking for a Great Perhaps, for real friends and a more-than-minor life.

I was born into Bolívar's labyrinth, and so I must believe in the hope of Rabelais' Great Perhaps.

I mean, if Hardee's is urban, I'm not sure I want to see rural.

She had this dark cancer water dripping out of her chest. Eyes closed. Intubated. But her hand was still her hand, still warm and the nails painted this almost black dark blue and I just held her hand and tried to imagine the world without us and for about one second I was a good enough person to hope she died so she would never know that I was going, too. But then I wanted more time so we could fall in love. I got my wish, I suppose. I left my scar.

I was blind and heart broken and didn't want to do anything and Gus burst into my room and shouted, "I have wonderful news!" And I was like, "I don't really want to hear wonderful news right now," and Gus said, "This is wonderful news you want to hear," and I asked him, "Fine, what is it?" and he said, "You are going to live a good and long life filled with great and terrible moments that you cannot even imagine yet!

I mean, he was something that happened to me, you know? But before he was this minor figure in the drama of my life he was - you know, the central figure in the drama of his own life.