I told myself that if I didn't care, this wouldn't have hurt so much - surely that proved I was alive and human and all those touchy-feely things, for once and for all. But that wasn't a relief, not when I felt like a skyscraper with dynamite on every floor.

When you showed someone how you felt, it was fresh and honest. When you told someone how you felt, there might be nothing behind the words but habit or expectation.

The feeling that she was going to explode, that she was too big for her own skin.

It's not because I don't want to hurt Delia's feelings. It's because when she is bruised, I'm the one who aches.

There is a place in you that you don't even know exists, where you can simply stand back and watch without feeling any pain.

My mother walks forward. She's crying, but there's a smile on her face. For God's sake, is it any wonder I can't ever understand what you people are feeling?

I love feeling loved. I don't love knowing that I will always come in second place. I love the fact that at least sometimes when I am in my home, I'm not alone. I don't love the fact that it's not always. I love not having to answer to him. I don't love that he doesn't answer to me. I love the way I feel when I am with him. I don't love the way I feel when I'm not.

sometimes words are not big enough to contain all the feelings you are trying to pour into them.

This was the reason there was music, he realized. There were some feelings that didn't have words big enough to describe them.