You never know. It's just. It's like. POOF. And you're gone.

You may choose your song, but know this: Tiny. Cooper. Hates. Over. The. Rainbow.

Wow,” I said. “Are you making this up?” “Hazel Grace, could I, with my meager intellectual capacities, make up a letter from Peter Van Houten featuring phrases like ‘our triumphantly digitized contemporaneity’?” “You could not,” I allowed. “Can I, can I have the email address?” “Of course,” Augustus said, like it was not the best gift ever.

Who would you die for? Who would you wake up at five forty-five in the morning for even though you don't even know why he needs you?

I realize that they giggle and I actually laugh, that they show their cleavage and I have none to show, but just so you know, I am also a girl. I'm one of the three wise MEN. And it's gay to think that James Bond is hot.

They belong to their readers now, which is a great thing–because the books are more powerful in the hands of my readers than they could ever be in my hands.

The labyrinth blows, but I choose it.