What is literature, really? Boiled down to a single sentence, I'd say it's this: an endless conversation about what it means to be human. And to read literature is to engage in that conversation.

When we went into the ocean, I watched his body as he dove into the waves, and it gave me a feeling in my stomach that wasn't an ache but something different.

There are so many ways to be alive, but only one way to be dead.

We search for patterns, you see, only to find where the patterns break. And it’s there, in that fissure, that we pitch our tents and wait.

Loneliness: there is no organ that can take it all.

When will you learn that there isn't a word for everything?

The truth is the thing I invented so I could live.