This object that we hold in our hands, a book... that tactile pleasure, it's just not going to go away.

We don't have time to be sad

It's all you think about, all you talk about, and all you want us to talk about. What in the world would we call something like that? Oh, yeah! An obsession!

You're the nicest boy ever,", I told him, feeling undeserving and terrible. "You didn't have to get me anything. I like thinking about you thinking about me when I'm not around.

That's a depressing and practical thought," Sam said. "I'd rather it was something magical.

I'd learned a long time ago that one of the finest weapons in my arsenal was my ability to invade personal space

It was a strangely disorienting feeling, to have something you'd relied on for so long start to change, like finding out that gravity no longer worked on Mondays.