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.

The gray paint peels off the wall in odd and beautiful patterns, each cracked polygon of paint a snowflake of decay.

A poem can't do its work if you only read snippets of it.

The marks we leave are too often scars.

Neither novels or their readers benefit from any attempts to divine whether any facts hide inside a story. Such efforts attack the very idea that made-up stories can matter, which is sort of the foundational assumption of our species.

For me, at least, fiction is the only way i can even begin to twist my lying memories into something true.

I'm really not up for answering any questions that start with how, when, where, why or what.

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."-Paper Towns

there are books which you can't tell people about, books so special and rare and yours that advertising your affection feels like a betrayal.