I did some research on this a couple years ago," Augustus continued. "I was wondering if everybody could be remembered. Like, if we got organized, and assigned a certain number of corpses to each living person, would there be enough living people to remember all the dead people?" "And are there?" "Sure, anyone can name fourteen dead people. But we're disorganized mourners, so a lot of people end up remembering Shakespeare and no one ends up remembering the person he wrote Sonnet Fifty-five about

But if you consider all the unlikely things together, at least one of them will probably happen to each of us.

... I didn't know whether to feel angry at her for making me part of her suicide or just to feel angry at myself for letting her go.

When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.

Here's to all the places we went. And all the places we'll go. And here's to me, whispering again and again and again and again: iloveyou

Did I help you to a fate you didn't want?

And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation. Everything that mattered except one lousy picture was in the trash, but it felt so great. I started jogging, wanting to put even more distance between myself and school. It is so hard to leave—until you leave. And then it is the easiest goddamned thing in the world.