I would give someone a record so they could love the record, not so they would always know that I gave it to them.

So, I looked up, and we were in this giant dome like a glass snowball, and Mark said that the amazing white stars were really only holes in the black glass of the dome, and when you went to heaven, the glass broke away, and there was nothing but a whole sheet of star white, which is brighter than anything but doesn't hurt your eyes. It was vast and open and thinly quiet, and I felt so small.

If the right thing came along, I would absolutely direct something I did not write because I love the process so much, but we'll see. I'm taking it day by day.

I can see it. This one moment when you know you’re not a sad story. You’re alive. And you stand up and see the lights and the buildings and everything that makes you wonder. And you’re listening to that song in that drive with the people you love most in this world. And in this moment I swear… we are infinite.

He was the boy that made mix tapes with themes and hand-colored covers until the day he hit my sister and stopped crying.

I don't know what's wrong with me. It's like all I can do is keep writing this gibberish to keep from breaking apart.

Have you ever done that? You feel really bad, and then it goes away, and you don’t know why.