We are always being pushed and squeezed down one road or another. We have no choice but to step forward, and then step forward again, and then step forward again; suddenly we find ourselves on a road we haven't chosen at all.

As we're standing there I realize we're almost exactly the same height. We must look like the dark and light side of an Oreo cookie, and I think how just as easily it could have been the other way around. She could be blocking my path; I could be trying to slip around her into the dark.

i suppose that's the secret, if you're ever wishing for things to back the way they were. You just have to look up.

This is the strange way of the world, that people who simply want to love are instead forced to become warriors.

The thing is, you don't get to know. It's not like you wake up with a bad feeling in your stomach. You don't see shadows where there shouldn't be any. You don't remember to tell your parents you love them or--in my case--remember to say good-bye to them at all.

Perfection is a promise, and a reassurance that we are not wrong.

You don't reach points in life at which everything is sorted out for us. I believe in endings that should suggest our stories always continue.