Once Mo had closed the gates, he returned to his little stone hut, and his half-eaten sandwich of butter and canned sardines, and his mug of thick hot chocolate, which every night he poured carefully into a thermos labeled COFFEE.

i feel like a curtain has dropped away and i'm seeing people for who they really are, different, and sharp, and unknowable.

Maybe this is the secret to talking to boys--maybe you just have to be angry all the time.

Amor deliria nervosa isn't a disease of love. It's a disease of selfishness.

Eventually she came. She appeared suddenly, exactly like she'd done that day- she stepped into the sunshine, she jumped, she laughed and threw her head back, so her long ponytail nearly grazed the waistband of her jeans. After that, I couldn't think about anything else. The mole on the inside of her right elbow, like a dark blot of ink. The way she ripped her nails to shreds when she was nervous. Her eyes, deep as a promise. Her stomach, pale and soft and gorgeous, and the tiny dark cavity of her belly button. I nearly went crazy.

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

You have to go forward: It's the only way. You have to go forward no matter what happens. This is the universal law.