She waited for me to play out the string, to find the place where she had stopped and was waiting for me, to follow the breadcrumb tail until it dead-ended into her.

The world may be broken, but hope is not crazy.

Cold,” he said, pressing a finger to my pale wrist. “Not cold so much as underoxygenated,” I said. “I love it when you talk medical to me,” he said. He stood, and pulled me up with him, and did not let go of my hand until we reached the stairs.

The only way out of the labyrinth of suffering is to forgive.

You can't not like "The Great Gatsby." It's got the best sentences in, like, ever.

That doesn't sound like my Margo", she said, and I thought of my Margo, and all of us looking at her reflection in different funhouse mirrors.

I can almost imagine a happiness without her, the ability to let her go, to feel our roots are connected even if I never see that leaf of grass again.'