He wasn't perfect, but he was perfect for her.

Popularity was fickle and elusive, like trying to catch fireflies in a jar. You were either born with it or relegated to wallflower status according to your mysterious and unknowable workings of the universe.

If she loved him the way she said she did, she wanted him whole. Maybe this was what love meant after all: sacrifice and selflessness. It did not mean hearts and flowers and a happy ending, but the knowledge that another's well-being is more important than one's own.

Oliver liked to play the part of disaffected youth, but he liked shopping in SoHo even more.

Death was just the beginning of a journey that everyone took at some point.

I don't trust an organization that would make policy out of fear.

Bonds are like rules, they're meant to be broken.