We're killers, all of us: We kill our lives, our past selves, the things that mattered. We bury them under slogans and excuses.

I didn’t know it would be like this,” he says in a whisper. And then: “I’m scared.

It was unfair that people could pretend to be one thing when they were really something else. That they would get you on their side and then do nothing but fail, and fail, and fail again. People should come with warnings, like cigarette packs: involvement would kill you over time.

My stomach gets that hollowed-out feeling. It's amazing how words can do that, just shred your insides apart.

I used to think that's what love was: knowing someone so well he was like a part of you.

That is the strangest thing about the world: how it looks so different from every point of view.

I love you. They can't take it away.