You couldn't be more wrong," I said. "You are buying into the cross-stitched sentiments of your parents' throw pillows. You're arguing that the fragile, rare thing is beautiful simply because it is fragile and rare. But that's a lie, and you know it." "You're a hard person to comfort," Augustus said. "Easy comfort isn't comforting," I said.

Like, in general I think people have very complicated reasons for wanting things, and we often have no idea whether we’re actually motivated by altruism or a desire to hook up or a search for answers or what. I always get annoyed when in books or movies characters want clear things for clear reasons, because my experience of humanness is that I always want messy things for messy reasons.

Need is never a good basis for any relationship.

If I had a nervous breakdown every time something awful happened in the world, I'd be crazier than a shithouse rat.

I'm a grenade, I just want to stay away from people and read books, and think.

The real heroes anyway aren't the people doing things; the real heroes are the people NOTICING things, paying attention.

You can't just make me different, and the leave. Because I was fine before.