Somewhere in this world is a man who loves you, who understands how precious and clever and kind you are. A man who has always loved you and, to his detriment, suspects he always will.

I thought, briefly, that I would never feel as intensely connected to the world, to another human being, as I did at that moment.

You can only actually help someone who wants to be helped.

Real friends were the kind where you pick up where you'd left off, whether it be a week since you'd seen each other or two years.

There is a whole lot more to life than winning.

And then, just like that, my heart broke. My face crumpled, my composure went and I held him tightly and I stopped caring that he could feel the shudder of my sobbing body because grief swamped me. It overwhelmed me and tore at my heart and my stomach and my head and it pulled me under, and I couldn’t bear it. I honestly thought I couldn’t bear it.

Because even if the whole world was throwing rocks at you, if you still had your mother or father at your back, you'd be okay.