But how could anyone who's ever seen a summer - big explosion of green and skies lit up electric with splashy sunsets, a riot of flowers and wind that smells like honey - pick the snow?

Maybe it would be better if we didn't love. If we didn't lose, either. If we didn't get out hearts stomped on, shattered; if we didn't have to patch and repatch it until we're like Frankenstein monsters, all sewn together by who knows what

Even the greatest movements on earth, have their beginnings with something small.

It's amazing how close I have been, all this time, to my old life. And yet the distance that divides me from it is vast.

Nothing has ever been so painful or delicious as being so close to him and being unable to do anything about it: like eating ice cream so fast on a hot day you get a splitting headache.

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

I didn't realize then what a privilege that was: to be bored with your best friend; to have time to waste.