Sometimes everyone does the right thing and there's still a mess left to clean up. Someone has to take responsibility for it.

Sunday night, I reread The Catcher in the Rye until I felt tired enough to fall asleep. Only I never got tired enough. And I couldn't read, because reading didn't feel the same.

Nothing in my life is a coincidence.

"Well? Is it true? Did she?" "Did she what?" "You know. Fall outta the crazy tree and hit every branch on the way down?"

Maybe Ridley was like chicken pox; you could only catch it once.

We don't get to chose what is true. We only get to choose what we do about it.

I wanted to stay this way forever. Which, it turns out, was exactly five more minutes.