The closer and more completely you can come to explaining what a work of art means, the less like art it seems.
The past will find a way to squeeze into the present–if you let it.
Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal.
It was a completely new feeling for me–like someone had just released a million, tiny butterflies loose in my stomach, and they were feverishly flying up into my head and making me lose my mind.
There is a perfect someone, even if the road to that someone isn’t all that perfect.
Maybe everything really does just have an expiration date--one that you can't see until she tells you she's leaving, and then she's gone.