And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things I’d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me.

I wouldn't have cared if my girlfriend was a Jaguar-driving Cyclops with a beard - I'd have been grateful just to have someone to make out with.

it was not enough to be the last guy she kissed. i wanted to be the last one she loved.

The future lay before him, inevitable but invisible.

If I'm too old to be Emo, how do you account for the very Emo and very old Edgar Allan Poe? Checkmate!

There's a stark difference between the words 'prodigy' and 'genius.' Prodigies can very quickly learn what other people have already figured out; geniuses discover that which no one has ever previously discovered. Prodigies learn; geniuses do.

Without Pain, How Could We Know Joy?