Maybe the answer to all of his problems was nothing more than a darkened sky and a glittering city, a lofty perch above the world below. It seemed entirely possible that it was all just a matter of setting and location, and Peter wondered why he hadn...
Childhood memories were like airplane luggage; no matter how far you were traveling or how long you needed them to last, you were only ever allowed two bags
It had always been the two of them through everything -every adventure and every expedition- and now there was this awful distance between them, and she tried not to think about all the stories they were missing out on, all the litle moments and bigg...
Exactly. How can you know it makes you happy if you’ve never experienced it?” “There are different kinds of happy,” she said. “Some kinds don’t need any proof.
Suddenly, it seemed there were about a million times he was supposed to have kissed her, even without the benefit of a script, even without any sort of direction.
It was exactly as he’d thought it would be, like the first time and the millionth time all at once, like being wide awake, like losing his balance. Only this time, it wasn’t just him; this time, they were losing their balance together.
No matter how long it’s been or how far you’ve drifted, no matter how unknowable you might be, there were at least two people in the world whose job it was to see you, to find you, to recognize you and reel you back in. No matter what.
The morning felt like a mixing bowl just waiting for its ingredients; there was a sense of possibility to it, a promise of something more to come.
I think you have to be more of a believer for these things to work," he said, wiping some ice cream from his face. "How are you supposed to find what you're looking for if you're not convinced it's even out there?
they'd become unaccustomed to the brightness of their own city, and, faced with it now in all its intensity, they cupped their hands over their eyes as if staring into the sun.
Love is the strangest, most illogical thing in the world.” “I’m not talking about love,” Hadley insisted. “I’m talking about marriage.” Mom shrugged. “That,” she said, “is even worse.
You could tell a lot about someone by the way they carried a secret-by how safe they kept it, how soon they told, the way they acted when they were trying to keep it from spilling out.
How are you supposed to find what you're looking for if you're not even convinced it's out there?
