Nothing before you counts,” he said. “And I can’t even imagine an after.
People who fall in love with books never really stop falling.
There's only of him, she thought, and he's right here.
To really be a nerd, she'd decided, you had to prefer fictional worlds to the real one.
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.
The first time he'd held her hand, it felt so good that it crowded out all the bad things. It felt better than anything had ever hurt.