He was the only person in the world she was tongue-tied around, and yet the only person she really wanted to talk to.

Her life was monotonous, but it kept her out of trouble. . . . This, her father would say, was called being an adult.

Don't you wish you could take a single childhood memory and blow it up into a bubble and live inside it forever?

There was an art to the male posterior. That's all there was to it.

When someone needs help, you help. Right?

If we measured life in the things that almost happened, we wouldn't get anywhere.

He didn't think he belonged here, so she was making him face some uncomfortable facts. People adapt. People change. You can grow where you're planted.