The universe requires balance. Nothing, nothing, can exist without it. There is no life, no light, without death, without darkness. There is no memory… without emptiness.
She raised one leg and gave me all her weight as I dipped her. She either trusted me or wanted to fall.
We don't suffer from a shortage of metaphors, is what I mean. But you have to be careful which metaphor you choose, because it matters.
What about the rest of your life?" She shrugged. "What about it?" "Aren't you worried about, like, forever?" "Forever is composed of nows," she says.
Most of my friends were in band, and most of my free time during school was spent within twenty feet of the band room
Was it animal pee or human pee? Someone asked. How would I know? What, am I an expert in the study of pee?
There are so many people. It is easy to forget how full the world is of people, full to bursting, and each of them imaginable and consistently misimagined.
My heart is really pounding," I said. "That's how you know you're having fun," Margo said.
I don't know how I look, but I know how I feel: Young. Goofy. Infinite.
The abbreviated exam week meant that Wednesday was the last day of school for us. And all day long, it was hard not to walk around, thinking about the lastness of it all.
And as paralyzing and upsetting as all the never agains were, the final leaving felt perfect. Pure. The most distilled possible form of liberation.
That doesn't sound like my Margo", she said, and I thought of my Margo, and all of us looking at her reflection in different funhouse mirrors.
What's the pleasure?' I asked. 'Planning, I guess. I don't know. Doing stuff never feels as good as you hope it will feel.
Poetry is just so emo." he said. "Oh, the pain. The pain. It always rains. In my soul.
I could write paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.
Once in a very long time you come across a book that is far, far more than the ink, the glue and the paper, a book that seeps into your blood.
Love rocks. Stones also rock. I wish I could scissors paper my way into your heart.
I’ve felt alone, cold, and clothed in shame for too long. Let the sunlight be my blanket, wardrobe, and toilet paper.
She had not character enough to take to drinking, and moaned about, slip-shod and in curl-papers, all day.
My mind turned by anxiety, or other cause, from its scrutiny of blank paper, is like a lost child–wandering the house, sitting on the bottom step to cry.
We never looked quite right on paper, but that's what made us so great. We were exactly what we wanted to be...and that was happy.
