I don't know how I look, but I know how I feel: Young. Goofy. Infinite.

You do not immortalize the lost by writing about them. Language buries, but does not resurrect.

We’re as likely to hurt the universe as we are to help it, and we’re not likely to do either.

I do my precalc homework, and then when I'm done I actually sit with the textbook for like three hours and try to understand what I just did. That's the kind of weekend it is--the kind where you have so much time you go past the answers and start looking into the ideas.

We do an epically bad job of acknowledging one another's work and checking our sources.

But it is the nature of stars to cross, and never was Shakespeare more wrong than when he has Cassius note, ‘The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars / But in ourselves.

There are times when you just have to let it all out. All the anger, all the pain.