That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence

I’ve always sort of preferred people who are not entirely likable.

The weird thing about houses is that they almost always look like nothing is happening inside of them, even though they contain most of our lives. I wondered if that was sort of the point of architecture.

... she called it a paper town. Like, you know, everything so fake and flimsy.

I'm sorry," she says. I wheel around. "You know, you're a total know-it-all. And it's incredibly rude sometimes; I mean, you're not perfect either, and you act like it's my fault but it's not my fault for being quiet or your fault for being a know-it-all. It's not your problem or my problem; it's their problem. They're the demented ones, not us, so don't take it out on me, because the only thing that holds things together for me is having someone else on the Not Demented Team.

As far as all of our identities are dependent on how other people imagine us we are all making ourselves and each other up all the time

I feel like crying, so I must be crying, but it's impossible to tell because I'm underwater.