There's this other half of him I don't know of, it's like he is trying to keep it a secret... if he would just let me inside so I can help.

The only thing I can't stand more than seeing something done wrong is seeing it done slowly.

She stroked my hair and told me I was beautiful, but I was old enough by then to know not to believe it anymore.

That was the thing about being alone, in theory or in principle. Whatever happened - good, bad, or anywhere in between - it was always, if nothing else, all your own.

"So you're always honest," I said. "Aren't you?" "No," I told him. "I'm not." "Well, that's good to know, I guess." "I'm not saying I'm a liar," I told him. He raised his eyebrows. "That's not how I meant it, anyways." "How'd you mean it, then?" "I just...I don't always say what I feel." "Why not?" "Because the truth sometimes hurts," I said. "Yeah," he said. "So do lies, though."

Sometimes it seems safer to hold it all in, where the only person who can judge is yourself.

The thing is, you can’t always have the best of everything. Because for a life to be real, you need it all: good and bad, beach and concrete, the familiar and the unknown, big talkers and small towns.