I'm not saying that everything is survivable. Just that everything except the last thing is.

I try to live life so that I can live with myself.

Nothing has ever looked like that ever in all of human history.

When I look at my room, I see a girl who loves books.

It is not my fault that my parents own the world's largest collection of black Santas.

And as we kept driving north, the whole family in the care together, it got darker, and snowier, until finally the road delivered us to the one place that all my youthful trips west never could: home.

I didn't even know what the feeling was, really, just that there was a lot of it.

My thoughts are starts I can't fathom into constellations.

I liked Augustus Waters. I really, really really liked him. I liked the way his story ended with someone else. I liked his voice. I liked that he took existentially-fraught free throws.