But as for me: I must ask the wounded man where he is hurt, because I cannot become the wounded man. The only wounded man I can be is me.

You see how fake it all is. It's not even hard enough to be made out of plastic. It's a paper town.

"Why are breakfast food breakfast foods?" I asked them. "Like, why don't we have curry for breakfast?" "Hazel, eat." "But why?" I asked. "I mean seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity? You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it's a breakfast sandwich."

Do the thing you're good at. Not many people are lucky enough to be so good at something.

I always had this secret suspicion that I was special.

A desert blessing, an ocean curse.

I don’t know a perfect person. I only know flawed people who are still worth loving.