Sometimes I'm afraid to go to sleep because of what I'm leaving behind.

I've never really thought about it before, but it's a miracle how many kinds of light there are in the world, how many skies: the pale brightness of spring, when it feels like the hole world's blushing; the lush, bright boldness of a July noon; purple storm skies and a green queasiness just before lightning strikes and crazy multicolored sunsets that look like someone's acid trip.

The reason you can never go home again isn't necessarily that places change, but people do. So nothing ever looks the same.

Like I've been sketched by an amateur artist: if you don't look too closely, it's all right, but start focusing and all the smudges and mistakes become really obvious.

That's my favorite thing about him. I like to lie next to him when it's late, dark, and so quiet I can hear my own heartbeat. It's times like that when I'm sure that I'm in love.

You can build walls all the way to the sky and I will find a way to fly above them.

If you’re smart, you care. And if you care, you love.