The urge to make art or contemplate philosophy does not go away when you are sick. Those urges just become transfigured by illness.

Ya gotta live somewhere, but also you GET to live somewhere.

Oh, my god," Augustus said. "i can't believe i have a crush on a girl with such cliché wishes." "i was thirteen," i said again, although of course i was only thinking "crush crush crush crush crush". I was flattered but changed the subject immediately.

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.

It's total bullshit," he said. "The whole thing. Eighty percent survival rate and he's in the twenty percent? Bullshit. He was such a bright kid. It's bullshit. I hate it. But it was sure a privilege to love him, huh?

It was nice - in the dark and the quiet... and her eyes looking back, like there was something in me worth seeing.

I could stand up and go to her and kiss her. I could. But there is still too much to be ruined.