Doing stuff never feels as good as you hope it will feel.

Do you ever wonder whether people would like you more or less if they could see inside you? But I always wonder about that. If people could see me the way I see myself—if they could live in my memories—would anyone, anyone, love me?

The sun was a toddler insistently refusing to go to bed: It was past eight thirty and still light.

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.

Oh, Wikipedia, with your tension between those who would share knowledge and those who would destroy it.

Margo's beauty was a kind of sealed vessel of perfection--uncracked and uncrackable.

We're not going to break anything. Don't think of it as breaking in to SeaWorld. Think of it as visiting SeaWorld in the middle of the night for free.