I've read a lot of bad books. I used to review books for a living, and when you're a reviewer you read tons of terrible books.

I couldn’t help but think about school and everything else ending. I liked standing just outside the couches and watching them—it was a kind of sad I didn’t mind, and so I just listened, letting all the happiness and the sadness of this ending swirl around in me, each sharpening the other. For the longest time, it felt kind of like my chest was cracking open, but not precisely in an unpleasant way.

Colin's skin was alive with the feeling of connection to everyone in that car and everyone not in it. And he was feeling not-unique in the very best possible way.

Keys show up when you reconcile yourself to the bus.

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.

Maybe life is not about accomplishing some bullshit markers.

And I wanted to tell her that the pleasure for me wasn't planning or doing or leaving; the pleasure was in seeing our strings cross and separate and then come back together.