As I recall, you promised to CALL when you finished the book, not text.

And he found himself thinking that maybe stories don't just make us matter to each other - maybe they're also the only way to the infinite mattering he'd been after for so long.

I just want to fly under the radar, because when you start to make yourself into a big deal, that's when you get shot down.

I told him they built a statue of Schultz, and then he said that a monument is cold comfort to a dead man, and then I said that the statue was built not for Schultz, but for us--to remind us how to be human.

So it’s your death suit.” “Correct. Don’t you have a death outfit?” “Yeah,” I said. “It’s a dress I bought for my fifteenth birthday party. But I don’t wear it on dates.” His eyes lit up. “We’re on a date?” he asked. I looked down, feeling bashful. “Don’t push it.

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

She has enough black eyeliner on to outline a corpse, and her skin's so pale she looks like she's just broken dawn.