He flipped himself onto his side and kissed me. "You're so hot," I said, my hand still on his leg. "I'm starting to think you have an amputee fetish," he answered, still kissing me. I laughed. "I have an Augustus Waters fetish," I explained.

I wondered whether I could find a Great Perhaps here at all or whether I had made a grand miscalculation.

Do the thing you're good at. Not many people are lucky enough to be so good at something.

She spoke quietly then, the tiniest crack in her voice, and all at once Lacey Pemerton was not Lacey Pemberton. She was just—like, a person.

Grief doesn't change you. It reveals you.

Miles, as in 'to go before I sleep'?

She never acted as if she liked him all that much, but then she never acted as if she liked anyone all that much.