Eleanor was right. She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn't supposed to look nice; it was supposed to make you feel something.

She didn't have words for what Levi was. He was a cave painting. He was The Red Ballon. She lifted her heels and pulled him forward until his face was so close, she could look at only one of his eyes at a time. "You're magic," she said.

I miss you." "That's stupid," she said. "I saw you this morning." "It's not the time," Levi said, and she could hear that he was smiling." It's the distance.

To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.

There are other people on the Internet. It's awesome. You get all the benefits of 'other people' without the body odor and the eye contact.

If we stop to apologize and forgive each other every time we step on each other’s toes, we’ll never have time to be friends.

But it’s up to us …’ he said softly. ‘It’s up to us not to lose this