He looks at me, and I don't know what he sees. I used to think it was Rose. But she's not here with us now, in this room. It's just him and me, and the books. I feel like our lives are in those books. I feel like all the words on the pages are for us.

A feeling can't kill you.

But I know all the things you're too sweet to know.

In another time, in another place, I wonder who they might have been.

The thing about hope is that it doesn't go away even when it serves no purpose.

There is a silence so great that I can hear the ice crystals cracking and falling from eyelashes of girls who will never blink again.

Real’ is a dirty word in this place.