I think if you went back to the eighteenth century and you asked a fifteen year old boy, 'Would you like to marry a woman who has had plastic bags needlessly inserted into her breasts?', that fifteen year old boy would probably be like, 'what's plastic?'.

I hadn’t read a real series like that since I was a kid, and it was exciting to live again in an infinite fiction.

It was psychological trick called empathic listening. You say what the person is feeling so they feel understood.

At some point, you gotta stop looking up at the sky, or one of these days you'll look back down and see that you floated away, too.

Collin Singleton could no more stay cool than a blue whale could stay skinny or Bangladesh could stay rich

And then we were kissing. My hand let go of the oxygen cart and I reached up for his neck, and he pulled me up by my waist onto my tiptoes. As his parted lips met mine, I started to feel breathless in a new and fascinating way. The space around us evaporated, and for a weird moment I really liked my body, this cancer-ruined thing I'd spent years dragging around suddenly seemed worth the struggle, worth the chest tubes and PICC lines and the ceaseless bodily betrayal of the tumors.

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