I take something that happened to me in 1983, and I make it happen to somebody else in 1943. I pick my life apart that way, try to understand it better by writing straight through it.

Take off your glasses." "Why? I thought you liked my glassess." "I love your glasses. I especially love the moment when you take them off.

That moment," she told Cath, "when you realize that a guy's looking at you differently - that you're taking up more space in his field of vision. That moment when you know he can't see past you anymore.

I like your glasses,” he said. “I like your Simon Snow T-shirts. I like that you don’t smile at everyone, because then, when you smile at me.… Cather.

Nothing before you counts," he said. "And I can't even imagine an after." She shook her head. "Don't." "What?" "Don't talk about after." "I just meant that... I want to be the last person who ever kisses you, too.... That sounds bad, like a death threat or something. What I'm trying to say is, you're it. This is it for me.

Baz. "Have you ever done this before?" Simon. "Yes. No." "Yes or no?" "Yes. Not like this." Baz. "Not with a boy?" Simon. "Not when I really wanted it.

Have you ever heard sculptors say that they don’t actually sculpt an object; they sculpt away everything that isn’t the object?