That’s why; he’s worried about how his life is turning out, and he’s lonely, and lonely people are the bitterest of them all

That was his mother. When she wasn't crying over the breakfast cereal, she was laughing about killing herself.

Like all books that have that kind of momentum, it starts from word of mouth.

A man who wants to die feels angry and full of life and desperate and bored and exhausted, all at the same time; he wants to fight everyone, and he wants to curl up in a ball and hide in a cupboard somewhere. He wants to say sorry to everyone, and he wants everyone to know just how badly they've all let him down.

I miss him like one might miss a scar, or wooden leg, something disfiguring but characteristic.

I see now that dismissing YA books because you're not a young adult is a little bit like refusing to watch thrillers on the grounds that you're not a policeman or a dangerous criminal, and as a consequence, I've discovered a previously ignored room at the back of the bookstore that's filled with masterpieces I've never heard of.

He would read up on parenting, if he thought it would help, but his errors always seemed too basic for the manuals. "Always tell your kids they have siblings..." He couldn't imagine any child-raising guru taking the trouble to write that down. Maybe there was a gap in the market.