He's a wallflower. You see things. You keep quiet about them. And you understand.

on that piece of white paper, sam wrote, "write about me sometime." and i typed something back to her, standing right there in her bedroom. i just typed. "i will.

Except that my father got a raise, and my mother didn't because she doesn't get paid for housework, and my sister stopped reading those self-esteem books because she met a new boy

I just hope I remember to tell my kids that they are as happy as I look in my old photographs. And I hope that they believe me.

If it meant that I would never get to think of you that way, as long as you were happy, it was okay.

Banning books gives us silence when we need speech. It closes our ears when we need to listen. It makes us blind when we need sight.

I don’t want to start thinking again. Not like I have this last week. I can’t think again. Not ever again.