He says one word, nodding into the daylight. "Look." It's an astounding word. It's a gift.

Lovers are weapons, but love is a wound.

‎I have always been fascinated by the ocean, to dip a limb beneath its surface and know that I'm touching eternity, that it goes on forever until it begins here again.

Good night, sweetheart," he says. "Good bye, sweetheart," I say. And it's so casual, so innocent that he doesn't suspect a thing.

Everyone should remember being born. It doesn't seem fair that we only remember dying.

For males twenty-five is the fatal age. For women it's twenty. We are all dropping like flies.

We'll squeeze every second that we can from our lives, because we're young, and we have plenty of years to grow. We'll grow until we're braver. We'll grow until our bones ache and our skin wrinkles and our hair goes white, and until our hearts decide, at last, that it's time to stop.