Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, / The muttering retreats / Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels / And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: / Streets that follow like a tedious argument / Of insidious intent / To lead you to an overwhelming question.../ Oh, do not ask, 'What is it?' / Let us go and make our visit"' 'I'm in love with you,' he said quietly.

If people could see me the way I see myself - if they could live in my memories - would anyone love me?

I wanted so badly to lie down next to her on the couch, to wrap my arms around her and sleep... Just sleep together, in the most innocent sense of the phrase. But I lacked the courage and she had a boyfriend and I was gawky and she was gorgeous and I was boring and she was endlessly fascinating. 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.

We're invisible. I've never been here with someone else. It's different being invisible with someone.

My regret was immediate and permanent and useless.

Why would you try to kill this guy, Kevin? He's a genius. Nuts to your truce.

As a reader, I don't feel a story has an obligation to make me happy. I want stories to show me a bigger world than the one I know.