Worry is yet another side effect of dying.

I've lived here for eighteen years and I have never once in my life come across anyone who cares about anything that matters.

He told me this while ripping through his duffel bag, throwing clothes into drawers with reckless abandon. Chip did not believe in having a sock drawer or a T-shirt drawer. He believed that all drawers were created equal and filled each with whatever fit. My mother would have died.

Writing is something you do alone. It's a profession for introverts who wanna tell you a story but don't wanna make eye contact while telling it

Anyway, that was the last good day I had with Gus until the Last Good Day.

I have never really thought of him as a person, either.... A guy whose strings were broken, who didn’t feel the root of his leaves of grass connected to the field, a guy who was cracked. Like me.

You shall love your neighbour With your crooked heart, It says so much about love and brokenness -- it's perfect.