Running is a mental sport, more than anything else. You're only as good as your training, and your training is only as good as your thinking.

The past is nothing but a weight. It will build inside of you like a stone.

Alex is dead, do you hear me? All of that-what we felt, what it meant- that's done now, okay? Buried. Blown away.

That's the thing about best friends. That's what they do. They keep you from spinning off the edge.

Alex loved books. He was the one who first introduced me to poetry. That's another reason I can't read anymore.

I'm used to a feeling of doubleness, of thinking one thing and having to do another, a constant tug-of-war.

Po swirled upward from where it had been sitting, and floated over to the window. "When you go swimming and you put your head under the water," Po said, "and everything is strange and underwater-sounding, and strange and underwater-looking, you don't miss the air do you? You don't miss the above-water sounds and the above-water look. It's just different." "True." Liesl was quiet for a moment. Then she added, "But I bet you'd miss it if you were drowning. I bet you'd really miss the air then."