No reason to be angry. Anger just distracts from the all-encompassing sadness.
You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth...
Babies are made through an act that you will eventually find intriguing but for right now will just sort of horrify you, and also sometimes people do stuff that involves baby-making parts that does not actually involve making babies, like for instance kiss each other in places that are not on the fa
All salvation is temporary," Augustus shot back. "I bought them a minute. Maybe that's the minute that buys them an hour, which is the hour that buys them a year. No one's gonna buy them forever, Hazel Grace, but my life bought them a minute. And that's not nothing.
To be fair to Monica," I said, "what you did to her wasn't very nice either." "What'd I do to her?" he asked, defensive. "You know, going blind and everything." "But that's not my fault," Isaac said. "I'm not saying it was your fault. I'm saying it wasn't nice.
moms arenâ€™t the best audience for medication humor.
I was surprised. I'd always associated belief in heaven with, frankly, a kind of intellectual disengagement. But Gus wasn't dumb.
Peter Van Houten was the only person Iâ€™d ever come across who seemed to (a) understand what itâ€™s like to be dying, and (b) not have died.
I can't remember, because I never knew.
You know your problem, Quentin? You keep expecting people not to be themselves.
Uh-uh, dude. I tried it your way with the dating and the girls and the kissing and the drama, and man, I didn't like it. Plus, my best friend is a walking cautionary tale of what happens to you when romantic relationships don't involve marriage. Like you always say, kafir, everything ends in breakup
The feeling of loving her and being loved by her welled up in him, and he could taste the adrenaline in the back of his throat, and maybe it wasn't over, and maybe he could feel her hand in his again and hear her loud, brash voice contort itself into a whisper to say I-love-you as if it were a secre
Long week. Long month. Long life.
Love is keeping the promise anyway.
They love their hair because they're not smart enough to love something more interesting.
The truth hurts because it's real. It hurts because it mattered. And that's an important thing to acknowledge to yourself.
I laughed and pointed out that "Hash Browns Mean Nothing Without You" was a pretty good name for a band. "Or a song," the Duke said, and then she started singing all glam rock, a glove up to her face holding an imaginary mic as she rocked out an a cappella power ballad. "Oh, I deep fried for you / B
Oh, Wikipedia, with your tension between those who would share knowledge and those who would destroy it.
Like, in general I think people have very complicated reasons for wanting things, and we often have no idea whether weâ€™re actually motivated by altruism or a desire to hook up or a search for answers or what. I always get annoyed when in books or movies characters want clear things for clear reaso
It's hard to believe in coincidence, but it's even harder to believe in anything else.
Margo always loved mysteries. And in everything that came afterward, I could never stop thinking that maybe she loved mysteries so much that she became one.
If by that you mean that I dislike celebrity magazines, prefer food to anorexia, refuse to watch TV shows about models, and hate the color pink, then yes. I am proud to be not really a girl.
There's not even real *popularity* at my school." "That," Coli said emphatically, "is a sentence that has only ever been spoken by popular people.
He wanted to serve his country, ... If that's what he had to do, that's what he had to do.
Incidentally, did you know that the whole eight glasses a day thing is complete bullshit and has no scientific basis? So many things are like that. Everyone just assumes they're true, because people are basically lazy and incurious, which incidentally is one of those words that sounds like it wouldn
I hate the rich snots here with a fervent passion I usually reserve only for dental work and my father.
You could drive past it without noticing and from what I understand, you ought to.
And on the last day, the bad days become so difficult to recall, because one way or another, she had made a life here, just as I had. The town was paper, but the memories were not. All the things Iâ€™d done here, all the love and pity and compassion and violence and spite, kept welling up inside me.
He loved the scratching of pencil against paper when he was focused: it meant something was happening.
Without pain, how could we know joy?' This is an old argument in the field of thinking about suffering and its stupidity and lack of sophistication could be plumbed for centuries but suffice it to say that the existence of broccoli does not, in any way, affect the taste of chocolate.